


Between the Scenes (…and Sheets)

by OnceUponAWhim



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:02:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28519824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnceUponAWhim/pseuds/OnceUponAWhim
Summary: Everything we didn’t see in Hollywoodland [Lucy/Wyatt, canon-compliant]
Relationships: Wyatt Logan & Lucy Preston, Wyatt Logan/Lucy Preston
Comments: 10
Kudos: 37





	Between the Scenes (…and Sheets)

**Author's Note:**

> Eighty years ago tonight, things were happening for a certain couple in Hollywood… Kudos to _qwertygal_ for pointing out the date and giving me the kick in the butt to finish the last edits today. Consider it both an anniversary and late Christmas present :)
> 
> I figured everyone would write this sort of thing as soon as Hollywoodland aired, so I didn't bother, though this still became my own personal headcanon. Not only did we not get enough of them in the guesthouse, we're also missing some logistical info from before and after that as well…
> 
> Plus they played Lucy as so freaking tentative for so much of this episode, and it really made me want to get in her head.
> 
> So I did eventually write it.
> 
> Here's hoping that both Lucy's emotions and the between-the-scenes logistics/explanations ring true for you, like it could actually have been that way in the episode. And like it would have been that way in real life too, rather than like a fairytale. Your call as to how well I did with any of that :)
> 
> It's taken a loooooong time, but here it is. Finally. Thanks much to _qwertygal_ for the beta(s).

Lucy forces a smile, then swallows more of her drink than she intended to. But she barely notices the burn of the alcohol as it slides down her throat.

Why did Hedy have to say 'lovebirds'? Why did Wyatt have to zero in on it and scoff like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world? And why – _why_ – had she chosen _that_ song? And then proceeded to sing it right at him?

Rather than risk the awkwardness of meeting Wyatt's gaze again, Lucy takes a deep breath and tries to focus on the fact that they're literally in Hedy Lamarr's home. That's not exactly something she'd ever have imagined she'd get the opportunity to do, so she does want to appreciate where she is.

But she can still feel Wyatt's presence, no matter how many books, lamps, vases, and art pieces she tries to distract herself with.

Lucy sighs. She's not stupid. There's been… something… there lately. Between them.

Even back when they'd thought they were in the clear. That day at Mason before… He'd not only _remembered_ what she'd said about relationships and possibilities that night in Arkansas, but then he'd brought it up again in a way that sure as hell sounded like he'd meant with _her_.

And ok, yes, in the bunker, when she'd first gotten back, she'd been devastated and just overly emotional in general. They'd almost kissed, but, embarrassingly, that had been mostly her throwing herself at him. Not her finest moment.

But in the trunk of Wendell's car? He'd leaned in too, right?

Lucy sighs again and squeezes her eyes closed as she runs her fingers over the knickknacks on Hedy's shelves, trying to push from her mind the memory of Wyatt's body half on top of her and the barest brush of his lips against her own.

Even if there _is_ something there… It's not _love_. Is it?

No, not for him. There's _no_ way.

But for _her_? Love? Yeah, she's there. How she'd felt when her mother had told her that he was dead? There's just no other explanation. She loves him.

Which is fine. It's not like she's never been on the unrequited side of things before. Or just… with mismatched levels of requitedness, in this case. Maybe.

What she's never done before is get on stage to declare just how much she loves the other half of said mismatched requitedness by blatantly serenading him in front of a huge crowd.

Lucy has absolutely no illusions that Wyatt feels the same way about her. She knows he cares, on some level. And if they can be something, even if that's _all_ he feels, that's fine. She just _so_ hopes that she hasn't scared him off by admitting too much…

A rustle behind her grabs her attention, and she turns instinctively to see.

Her breath catches in her throat; Wyatt has loosened his tie and is shrugging off his jacket.

She has to wonder if he has any idea how much an innocent gesture like that can affect her.

Lucy forces herself to stop staring. The song had already been too much; she doesn't need to make more of a fool of herself by being caught drooling over him.

Still, he's probably got the right idea. If they're going to be staying there, there's no reason to remain 100% in the formalwear, right? Because heels are far from her favorite footwear even in the 21st century, and the '40s version is definitely lacking in more recent advances in ergonomics and support.

So she sits gingerly on the couch and pries the straps out of the buckles and eases the uncomfortable shoes off.

She's just stretching out her toes when someone – a butler? – appears in the room, addressing her and Wyatt politely. "Miss Lamarr wanted the two of you to know that your room will be the guesthouse, just to the far side of the pool," he informs them. "You'll have more privacy there than in the main wing here. I've freshened it up for you, so you're more than welcome to relocate there, if you please. Or feel free to take in some air on the patio."

_Privacy_? Lucy can feel her face flushing at yet another implication that she and Wyatt are a couple. And she's left stammering in response, "Oh, I, uh… We-"

"Thank you," Wyatt jumps in, cutting her off and courteously, but effectively, dismissing the butler. Once they're alone again, he eyes Lucy with a shrug. "It's fine," he mumbles, looking away and shaking his head ever so slightly. "There's gotta be a couch or something. Or I'll come back to this couch," he adds, nodding to where Lucy's still sitting.

What can she do but give a weak nod of agreement? She certainly can't voice the gnawing disappointment that she feels in the pit of her stomach when it registers that his mention of multiple couches effectively rules out any chance of them sharing a bed again, even if only for the sake of appearances.

Which is ridiculous; she's a grown woman, not an eleven year-old on some sleepover class trip. The prospect of lying platonically next to a crush shouldn't be such a big deal in the first place. With a sigh, Lucy sinks back into the couch and downs another gulp of her drink.

She's fully prepared to just finish the glass and excuse herself to this… guesthouse thing – it's not as if they often have the chance to have a real, relatively relaxing night's sleep when back in the past, after all – when she hears Wyatt clear his throat.

Lucy looks up, and is surprised to find him looking almost… nervous?

"Uh, you wanna go out by the pool?" he asks, nodding over his shoulder toward the door. The question is punctuated by a round of laughter echoing from far down the hallway. Wyatt shrugs, adding, "Science dorks don't need us."

Ok, maybe she is eleven, because before she can even really process how to respond, Lucy finds herself nodding instinctively in agreement.

With a small grin, Wyatt nods again toward the patio, so Lucy snags her shoes from the floor and hurries over.

* * *

"…now?"

Lucy's heart races. Is this _it_? Is something really happening? Were it anyone else, she might believe that this moment is heading toward a kiss. Kiss _ing_ , even. But it's _Wyatt_.

She tries to read his expression, as he gazes down at her, but… What is she supposed to _say_? He just, on some level, equated her with Jessica. _Jessica_. And she'd tried to tell him what he means to her, but now he's… asking for clarification, or something, and there's a _reason_ she didn't venture any further than parroting his statement. What if she's _wrong_? She's just not ready to go out on that limb and admit that she's fallen in love with him. It's too much. She can't get this wrong and spook him. She _can't_.

And now she's been quiet and indecisive for too long, because his expression has gone from …sort of …teasing, to _worried_ , and if this really is happening, she also can't freak him out by _not_ admitting something…

She still doesn't know what to say, especially considering she's just felt his hand land on her hip and it's short-circuiting her brain a bit, but she knows she has to say _something_. Lucy swallows hard, then forces herself to speak. "I-"

Her words catch in her throat as Rufus' trademark guffaw radiates out from the house, along with more muted laughter from George and Hedy. Lucy glances toward the din as Wyatt's hand falls away from her side; through the many windows, she can see the others ambling slowly back down the hall to the main room.

But for as much as Rufus and his laugh caught her off-guard, it's Wyatt who surprises her the most; Lucy's not even fully sure she hears him correctly, but she swears that she hears him mutter, exasperated, under his breath, "You gotta be kidding me…"

Lucy snaps her gaze back to him, not quite believing that he could really be feeling what such an utterance might imply. For all that she's wondered, hoped, and maybe even let herself believe that their recent… _moments_ weren't one-sided and a figment of her imagination, this is as close as he's come to articulating that he may well have been just as disappointed at the other recent interruptions as she's been.

For a split second, it's hard to tell where Wyatt's mind is; his eyes dart about, almost panicked, as if he's looking for… what, Lucy doesn't know.

But then his gaze fixes on something briefly. And, after he steals a quick glance back into where Rufus, Hedy, and George have entered the sitting room, he's looking at her again.

"We can-" Wyatt stops short, swallows hard, then rephrases, with a gentle intensity in his eyes. "He said the guesthouse is over there."

_Oh_. Her breath catches in her throat for a second. The guesthouse.

Being alone with Wyatt in a location allocated to them specifically because of assumptions about the two of them being a couple – a location with a _bedroom_ – is simultaneously exhilarating and _terrifying_.

Somehow the notion that he might kiss her right there by the pool has been superseded by the once-improbable prospect of the two of them in bed together, not posing as lovers, but _being_ them.

Lucy tries to quash the mental imagery that accompanies such a possibility, because it's not _really_ a possibility. Not yet. Not now.

She wants it to be, but… She can't push him. It's too much.

_Isn't_ it?

She can't get this wrong, but…

But if this _is_ … it… or _anything_ , really, she can't miss this chance.

And what's more, there's no time for second-guessing it; it's only a matter of time before Rufus realizes where they are and brings everyone else out there with him.

So Lucy nods.

And the next thing she knows, Wyatt is grabbing her by the elbow and they're hurrying out of view, toward the end of the pool, where she can now see a small bungalow through the trees, with soft light emanating from the windows.

But Lucy balks once they reach the path away from the patio toward the guesthouse; it's rough, unfinished gravel rather than the smooth, finished tile and concrete of the pool deck. And she's barefoot.

A quick glance over her shoulder tells her that at least they're out of the line of sight of Rufus and the others, so she quickly crouches down and shoves one of her feet back into the sandals she's still been clutching.

From above her somewhere, she hears Wyatt whisper in confusion, "What are you-"

"One second," Lucy mumbles back.

Her fingers shake as she tries to secure the flimsy buckle, but for whatever might be happening right now, she's determined to secure the shoes. She might be hoping for him to finally be ready to admit a few things, maybe a repeat of that kiss back in Arkansas, but she's not about to force his hand into anything by making him somehow carry her across the rough path, because she knows that's the kind of thing he'd offer. But no. Not when she's wearing a _white dress_. Not when it's his _wife_ that she's hoping he's finally moving on from.

Soon enough, she's able to fasten her second shoe, and apparently just in time, because she swears she hears Rufus, George, and Hedy getting louder. Closer.

Lucy stands, shooting one more anxious glance back in the direction of the swelling voices and turns to Wyatt. Her stomach does a little flip-flop butterfly thing when he shoots her a half smile and nods for her to head down the path first.

Which she does, but not as easily as she'd have liked. The vintage heels still aren't meant for traversing uneven ground, so while it's better than the pain that the sharp rocks would have inflicted on her bare feet, it's slow-going unless she's willing to risk tearing a few tendons and ligaments in her ankles. Which she's not, considering that they're already on the precarious edge of being interrupted, and if something gets in their way _again_ , then she's-

A gasp catches in Lucy's throat when Wyatt catches her hand mid-wobble to stabilize her. It's not like he's never done the exact same thing before, considering how clumsy she is, but now… Now it just feels… different. And he doesn't let go.

The butterflies are now out in full force, and she can feel a warm blush tingeing her cheeks when her eyes meet Wyatt's.

If the anticipation of whatever's going to happen in the guesthouse is affecting him anywhere near as much as it's affecting her, Lucy's not able to pick up on it. Possibly because she's still trying to keep herself from getting her hopes up. She knows that they're going to have some sort of awkward conversation, hopefully with him acknowledging that _some_ thing's been building between them, and with her most definitely _not_ acknowledging the full depth of how she feels about him. And then probably going to bed – her in the bedroom, him on the couch, as he'd promised, and oh-so-gentlemanly – and tabling anything more than that until they're back in the bunker and not caught up in the glitzy ambiance of 1940s Hollywood. But still, it'll be _something_. Just get some things out in the open.

The next thing Lucy knows, she's made it safely down the uneven path, and she and Wyatt have reached the door of the tiny house.

"Guess this is us?" Wyatt says softly, with what sounds like it's meant to be a joking tone, but just maybe – at least to Lucy's ear – with a little bit of shakiness in his voice.

The nervous anticipation doesn't really allow for her to form any useful words either, so she just forces a smile and nods.

Wyatt tests the doorknob and, finding it open, gestures for Lucy to enter first.

So she does, carefully stepping past him, and-

Oh.

Lucy sucks in a sharp breath, forcing herself to keep moving, and trying to be casual.

Because it's not a guest _house_. House isn't quite right. Not even studio apartment, because Lucy's pretty sure that the door at the far end is to a bathroom, and there's no space for a kitchen to be hiding anywhere. It's basically a free-standing hotel room.

Not a guest _house_. More like a guest… room. That just happens to be its own building.

Sure, there's the couch that Lucy was figuring they'd sit on for some sort of conversation, but there's also a bed staring her in the face. Not hidden away in a separate room, just… _there_.

And suddenly that improbable possibility of _them_ , and of _them_ doing far more than just kissing, is that much more real. Very, very real. And very, very overwhelming.

She tries to take a deep breath and close her eyes to center herself, futile as it's seeming. Lucy thinks she catches the sound of Wyatt closing the door behind her, but it barely registers amidst the turmoil in her mind and heart in that moment.

She loves him. She _does_. There's no fighting that battle anymore. And in a perfect world, yes, they would end up in that bed, and together, and getting the clichéd ride-off-into-the-sunset-happily-ever-after.

But the fact that they're in 1941 at all is a hell of a sign that it's most definitely _not_ a perfect world. Wyatt is… _maybe_ more receptive to something? _Maybe_ finally willing to let Jessica go? But for all that talk of his life being saved, and that she, Lucy, has somehow had a hand in that, that's _all_ they've talked about. No real, concrete declarations of feelings or intentions. It's all moving so quickly, and Lucy is terrified of the possibility that the two of them are on very different pages about what they actually are.

And then she feels Wyatt grip her elbow.

* * *

His hands are everywhere. In her hair, holding her face, up and down her back, pulling her hips close… _everywhere_.

And for all the trepidation that Lucy had been feeling just moments before, she can't bring herself to care about those worries anymore. Not when _this_ is finally happening, after so long.

She drinks him in, her arms still around his neck as he walks them back to some… cabinet thing against the wall. The edge of which – _ouch_ – is digging in near her tailbone at exactly the wrong height and probably giving her a hell of a bruise, but given that it's Wyatt pressing her to that cabinet, and Wyatt's lips now brushing kisses along her neck, Lucy wouldn't have been able to form the words to protest even if she'd wanted to.

She doesn't want to.

All she wants is to never wake up from the dream that this must be.

It's been so long since she's had this with _anyone_ , to now have it be with Wyatt is more than she would have really thought was possible.

Lucy is more than willing to accommodate him when his mouth drifts back up to hers, but she's left not quite knowing what to do with her hands; the overwhelming sensation of _Wyatt_ is leaving her discombobulated in the best way.

So, basically throwing caution to the wind and clinging to the presumption that this is going farther than just… groping, Lucy tries to make herself useful and reaches to try to push his suspenders off his shoulders. They're stubborn and not wanting to cooperate, though of course it doesn't help that Wyatt's hands are still distractingly on her, while his tongue is incessant in teasing her own. She's in the middle of focusing once more on tugging them down when Wyatt breaks their kiss, his breathing ragged.

"We should… slow down," he pants as his hands slow to a stop on her waist.

Lucy freezes in horror, her own hands motionless for a split second, still on his shoulders.

And then her defenses kick in and she drops her hands from his suspenders down to his wrists, backing away from him and trying to squirm out of his grasp.

She's absolutely mortified. She _knew_ that he might not be ready for something like this, and what had she done anyway? Veritably and shamelessly thrown herself at him, completely wanton and out of control. And it's too much, and he's not ready, and he regrets it, and- "Oh my god," she splutters, "I'm sorry, I'm so-"

But Wyatt won't let her go, murmuring softly, "Hey, hey, hey…" as he draws her even closer, until their hips are flush and his forehead rests on hers. "I don't _want_ to stop," he says, his voice husky as their breath mingles. "I just-" he starts, then rephrases with a sheepish shrug, "Let's just say the only protection I brought from 2018 is the gun."

Still breathing heavily, Lucy leans back from him in disbelief, even as he holds her close. She swallows hard, eyes wide as she studies him. He can't seriously only be worried about… condoms, right? But, unsure as she is, he really does look _so_ much like he wants to keep going, and she swears it's not just said gun that she feels pressed against her.

Is that really all it is? He's not… regretting anything?

_Yet_ , a nagging voice of doubt taunts from the back of her mind, but with a deep breath, Lucy is able to push that aside.

She bites her lip, unsure, and worried that this is where she's supposed to back off. Let him out of it easily, since that's a completely reasonable excuse. Hell, it's not even an excuse – it's a hard line in the sand for her too, having condoms for the first time – _times_ , really – with _any_ one.

Which makes what she's about to admit even more of a sign that this is different. That _he_ is different.

And she can't miss this chance with him.

Because if he _isn't_ making an excuse, and truly does just want to be responsible, then she'll regret not bringing this up…

Resigned to even more disappointment if she's reading him wrong, she swallows hard once more. "I'm on birth control," she admits tentatively. And before she gives him a chance to react, even more words come tumbling out in an anxious woosh, "Not for- I mean, there's nobody- I'm just… on it."

And maybe it's wishful thinking – god, how she wishes it – but she swears that his face lights up with the tiniest of little tugs at the corner of his mouth.

But he doesn't say anything.

So, still not sure which direction things are actually headed in, Lucy haltingly adds, "And I never had any- I, uh, I'm clean."

This time, Lucy knows she's not imagining things when Wyatt's gaze rakes over her, from her lips, down to the neckline of her dress to where his hands rest lower on her hips, with that same, almost awed, expression that she'd thought she'd seen earlier, when she'd first given in to her need to kiss him again.

"So am I," he echoes.

Lucy's heart thuds impossibly harder. He wants it too. It's going to happen. Even with his hands still drifting slowly over her waist, her hips, her sides, she's still in utter disbelief over that fact. Which leaves her not quite knowing what to do next.

She knows that they've only gotten _this_ far because she's stopped thinking quite so hard, so she tries to push herself to do the same again, and reaches to slide her arms up around Wyatt's neck again, leaning in.

But Wyatt is the one who leans back this time, hovering just out of the reach of her lips. "You sure?" he whispers.

Lucy almost feels an incredulous chuckle slip out at that, because for all that she's worried about things moving too fast for him, leave it to Wyatt to still be looking out for her and making sure that _she_ is ok.

She's _more_ than ok. They're really happening, and on some level she's afraid that once the glitz and glamour of the evening wear off, they'll turn back into a pumpkin, but she's beyond the point of letting herself get too worried about that. The man she's fallen in love with is holding her in his arms and, if nothing else, he at least wants her right now. So yes, she's sure.

But, she still needs to be sure that he's sure. So she nods, but waits.

And then he's kissing her again, gently at first. But there's no ignoring that for all the feelings they're painstakingly tiptoeing around, they're not the only driver of the current situation. She wants him, in all ways, but right now, she wants him… physically. And he's wearing far too many clothes for her to fully appreciate him.

So, as Wyatt's hands still trace paths over her body, leaving only so he can pull his arms out of the suspenders she finally is able to yank down, Lucy tugs his shirt from his waistband and hastily pries each of its buttons open.

She's momentarily occupied enough by his mouth and the feel of his chest through his thin undershirt once the dress shirt hangs open, but eventually, Wyatt's hands slow, and he pulls away, breathless but looking frustrated. "Where the hell is the zipper on this thing?" he huffs, eyeing Lucy's dress with disdain.

Lucy can't help but smile; women's dresses don't switch to mostly back zippers for another few years, but, for once, she's not interested in giving a history lesson. So she just lifts her arm instead, nodding at the hidden side zipper.

Wyatt rolls his eyes and smirks, but sweeps his lips over hers yet again as he works the small slider down.

Of course, that just leaves the gown hanging more loosely – it's not like it's magically going to fall off with the tight sleeves and the high collar – and Lucy's inwardly wincing as Wyatt pulls away from her to strategically bunch up the yards and yards of fabric that hang from her waist.

She'd recognized the dress immediately and had known she'd _needed_ to wear it, but _this_ hadn't been even close to being on the radar. And now she's regretting the choice, because getting it off is going to be anything but graceful or sexy or seductive.

Lucy is still struggling to unfasten the tight forearm of her right sleeve when Wyatt has gotten the skirt under control, leaving her even more flustered and frustrated because she hates that after all this, she's making him just stand there and wait for her. The longer she's left to fuss with the dress, the more the nerves creep back in; so much for just taking the physical side of things and running with it. It seems like an entire hour could have passed before she's finally able to loosen the stupid thing and begin to shrug out of the sleeves and bodice.

Were she less nervous, she probably would have realized that the less than gentle manner in which Wyatt unceremoniously tugs the whole thing over her head is merely a reflection of how much he wants her, but in the moment, all she can think is that he must be annoyed.

It's made even more awkward when she feels the dress and its many sequins and beads catching on her hair, and the bobby pins, and-

Then it's off. Wyatt's just standing there, clutching the whole glitzy, gauzy bundle, just… _looking_ at her. With that same expression that gives her goosebumps, but that she still can't really believe is for _her_.

Especially considering her hair is now a mess, she realizes, and immediately reaches up to shyly smooth down any wayward waves and plucking out any bobby pins that are obviously askew.

But even when she's done with that, Wyatt's still just… not moving, and it's kind of thrilling but also kind of unnerving. Lucy is suddenly very aware that he's still dressed and she's down to just her slip and the sandals that she'd just put back on. So, despite the fact that it'll just increase the disparity in their state of dress, just to give herself some sort of distraction, she ducks down to tug at the sandal straps, which also conveniently means she's momentarily ducking Wyatt's gaze too.

When she's able to stand again and kick the shoes away, he's just finishing draping her dress over the back of the couch with care. But even as he does, he still doesn't really take his eyes off her.

Not quite comfortable in the spotlight of his intense gaze, Lucy distracts herself once more by slipping off the borrowed lariat necklace and setting it on the cabinet just behind her.

Wyatt's a little less careful with his own clothes than he was with her dress; as he crosses the short distance back over to Lucy, he shrugs off his shirt and tie, and in one fluid motion, he's both tossed them into a haphazard pile on the coffee table and reached for her again. His hands slide up and down her sides, over the silky material of the thin slip. "You _are_ beautiful," he murmurs. "You are _so_ beautiful."

Half-undressed and on their way to sex or not, Lucy's still no more comfortable hearing that than she was outside near the pool, and she's never been quite sure how to respond to it anyway, considering she's never been quite convinced of it.

So she does what she usually does; she deflects, this time with a kiss instead of words. She reaches for Wyatt, pulling him in with her hands framing his stubbled jaw, and presses her lips to his.

And Wyatt doesn't exactly complain about her strategy; before Lucy can really process what's happening, he has her backed up against the cabinet again, with his hands drifting higher and higher up beneath the slip's hem. The stupid edge is digging into her again, and it _hurts_ , but now she's even more sure that she can feel that he's turned on, so she ignores the painful annoyance and pulls at his undershirt. He's still nipping at her lower lip when she gets it worked most of the way up his torso, and it's only when she breathes his name into his mouth in weak protest that he backs away just enough for her to yank the shirt up and over his head.

His hands are back at her waist in an instant, and he's leaning in, lips all shiny and kiss-swollen, but Lucy hangs back momentarily.

She saw him shirtless, what – only a day after he'd demanded that _she_ strip down in the jail cell? And she's seen flashes of him during any number of impromptu outfit changes all over history. But this is different. It's _him_ , looking like _that_ , and it's because he _wants_ to be with _her_.

And, she realizes as she spots the small scar from the bullet that first time she saw him half-naked, it's _this_ , being with him, that's going to make it all the more terrible the next time he gets hurt like that again. They've gotten lucky so far… She can't help but reach out to run her thumb over the pale indent of skin just above his hip bone.

Wyatt's being patient, his fingertips just skimming over the silky slip at her own hips, but Lucy knows that she can't let herself get distracted by the what-ifs of future injuries. She smiles up shyly at him as she lets her hand drift away from the scar to cautiously run it over his bare chest instead.

Which just leads to them melting into another kiss. Sweet at first, but the heat builds quickly. One second Lucy's trying to balance on her toes, one legs hooked around the back of his knee, pressed against him as he leans into her against the cabinet; the next second, he's lifting her up to sit on it, standing between her spread legs, with his hands slipping into the back of her underwear, squeezing and kneading and pulling her flush against him, his tongue still teasing hers relentlessly.

And once she's perched up there, his hands are all over her again. But all over her stupid slip. For all the emotions and sensations overtaking her, the one that Lucy needs right now is his hands on her, not on the freaking lingerie. Skin on skin. She needs it.

Yet she's almost afraid to say anything, lest it break whatever spell they're currently under, or wake her up from the dream so that she finds that she's simply nodded off on Hedy's couch, alone.

But she needs more. So Lucy tentatively leans back, breathing, "Wyatt…"

To his credit, he freezes right away, hands paused on the outsides of her thighs, eyeing her in concern.

Lucy gives him a small smile of reassurance, then takes a deep breath to reassure _herself_ and tamp down the latest swell of nerves. Next, grasping the hem of her slip, she shyly slides it up over her head. She doesn't quite let herself look at him right away as she balls up the garment to set amidst the figurines next to her on the dresser. It doesn't quite work; it unfurls right away and slithers to the floor.

Not that Lucy particularly cares, because as the slip falls, Wyatt's hands venture upward, electrifying her skin with his touch over her waist, then ribcage, until his fingers are dancing over the edge of her bra.

She sucks in a shaky breath at his touch, and looks back up to meet his gaze.

Except his gaze is directed… lower.

Which, in a normal situation would be the sort of thing that elicits a roll of her eyes and an exasperated huff – and actually _had_ elicited that reaction, that time back in Vegas – but now? Now a little thrill runs up Lucy's spine to see the look of appreciation in Wyatt's expression now that the slip is gone.

Wyatt finally does look up with a cheeky smirk, running his thumbs over the trace of the wires supporting her breasts. "These invented yet?"

The goosebumps she feels are just the physical anticipation of more of his touch; the tug in her chest is her heart, fluttering at the memory of that first day together and how much things have changed since then.

With a bit of a shy smile – it's still weird to be in this position with Wyatt, as much as she wants it, and him – Lucy explains, "Technically a couple years ago, but no one wears them until the 50s." She shrugs, knowing she'd protested wearing underwire on that first mission, yet here she is still wearing it anyway. "It was useful before…"

He just chuckles in response, then lets his thumb drift upward, just shy of teasing her nipple through the thin padding of the bra's cup. "Right now I think it's just in the way."

Though she's still well out of her comfort zone considering that all of this is finally happening, now, with _Wyatt_ , the shiver that overtakes her as both his thumbs finally sweep over her nipples lends a little confidence. Feeling a bit bolder, Lucy peers at him, daring him with her eyes to take the next step.

He doesn't back down, and as he leans in to brush his lips over hers yet again, his hands snake up her back to swiftly pry the small hooks of her bra apart.

As the straps go slack and the cups fall away from her body, Lucy lets out an involuntary gasp and pulls back from Wyatt's kiss. Her hands fly off his shoulders to catch the bra before it can slide too far.

Lucy looks up sheepishly, and, when she sees the concerned confusion on Wyatt's face, reaches to retrieve the small item now trapped between her ribcage and her other arm. Unfurling her grip between them, she shows him the locket and admits, "It's the only place I can put it on these missions if I can't wear it." With that, she carefully slips her arms from the bra, twists it a bit so the cups are one inside the other, the necklace nestled within, and sets it next to her on the cabinet.

Wyatt's expression has softened from concern to contemplative sadness as he runs his thumb over the angry red impression left by the locket on the side of her breast.

And, though she's touched that he seems to care about Amy's absence, Lucy is suddenly struck by the fear that Amy's disappearance could well cause Wyatt to make the mental leap to Jessica's disappearance, and death, and if _her_ brain has already gone there, his could well have already gone there too, and that's the last thing she needs now that she's finally sitting there, basically naked in front of him.

The necklace can't derail this, it _can't_. And, knowing Amy, Lucy realizes with wry and wistful nostalgia, she'd be absolutely horrified if she knew that it was a reminder of _her_ that somehow inadvertently cock-blocked her lonely, single, big sister and a hot soldier.

Sitting there, her legs wrapped around Wyatt's waist, him still sadly tracing over the locket's imprint, Lucy doesn't quite know what to do. She's just about to open her mouth to say … _some_ thing, when Wyatt looks up at her and beats her to it.

"I'm getting her back for you," he vows, his light eyes darkened and intense in the flickering firelight.

Lucy's feels her worried expression soften. "Wya-" she begins in a soft, appreciative murmur, but he cuts her off, brushing his lips over hers again.

The kiss deepens quickly, any lingering melancholy fading as Wyatt is no longer barely brushing her chest with one thumb but rather is more roughly palming the full weight of both her breasts, intermittently teasing her bare nipples.

She can't help but let out a little whimper into his mouth when he does it yet again. And even though Lucy still doesn't quite believe that all of this is truly happening, she needs more. Needs _him_.

But fully half of him is still dressed.

It's already a few minutes since she's been down to just the boring, nude-toned bikini-cut underwear from the bag of Target and Old Navy clearance finds that Agent Christopher had tossed in her direction, but Lucy still finds herself awkwardly hesitant when it comes to leveling the playing field. Her arms remain rather chastely looped around Wyatt's neck. Which is stupid… She's no stranger to sex. But sex with Wyatt? She hates admitting it to herself, but she knows that even right smack in the middle of foreplay, with his arousal obvious and pressed against her, a tiny part of her still doesn't trust that he's ok with this.

But when Wyatt's mouth drifts away from her own lips to trail over her neck and collarbone, instinct takes over and wins out over her doubts.

Loosening her legs' hold on Wyatt ever so slightly, Lucy lets one of her hands drift down below his belt buckle, where she takes advantage of the fake nails she'd found with her dress, dragging her fingertips delicately over him.

Which earns her a shuddery groan breathed against her neck as Wyatt freezes.

Lucy freezes too, not fully comfortable taking the lead with him stopping so suddenly.

But then she both feels and hears the small chuckle he lets out as he rests his forehead on her shoulder. "Hey, don't stop on my account," he teases through a kiss pressed to her collarbone.

She can't help but grin out of something between arousal and relief, and, emboldened, she foregoes any further teasing through his clothes and begins to unbuckle his belt. It's still Wyatt, so it's still weird, but the kisses he's pressing to the sensitive skin of her neck are encouragement enough to keep going.

Even amidst the overwhelming physical sensations, Lucy feels yet another soft tug of emotion in her heart when she realizes what she's seeing once she pushes Wyatt's pants over his hips to fall to the floor.

He'd been so, _so_ angry with her back in 1754, and when she'd caught an inadvertent glimpse of the bright red, spandex-laden fitted boxer briefs he'd been wearing, and reflexively chastised him for wearing something so conspicuously modern and out of place, it had only added fuel to his bitter, fuming fire.

But in spite of his anger at the time, he'd listened, and each of the very few times she's seen him like this since, he's been in loose, simple cotton boxers.

One of the many little things that have added up to her falling in love with him.

Which, she forces herself to remember, is not what tonight is about. He may not love her, but he finally wants her. And considering that she loves – _and_ wants – him, that's enough for now.

And holy hell, does she want him.

With the belt and pants puddled on the floor around his feet, Wyatt has leaned back from her, enough that she can make out the barest darker patch on the pale blue of his boxers.

Yeah, she wants him.

She can't help it; she's staring, her breathing unsteady and her chest heaving as she watches in earnest when Wyatt hooks his thumbs in the waist of his boxers, yanking them down.

There's a momentary frenzy of pants, socks, and shoes as he kicks the whole lot away. And before Lucy can even really register that he's _naked_ , he's reaching for her all over again, holding her to him and capturing her lips in an urgent kiss.

Lucy whimpers into his mouth, clinging to him. But when Wyatt's thumb brushes over the damp fabric of her underwear between her legs, she tears her lips from his with a shaky breath to rest her head on his shoulder.

Yet, for as good as that simple touch feels, it just serves to make Lucy all the more aware that the playing field isn't level – she's still perched on the cabinet thing, and still partially dressed.

So she quickly remedies the first issue, shimmying forward and using her grip on Wyatt's shoulders to brace herself as she eases her feet down to the floor.

That move is followed quickly by Wyatt wrapping her up in his arms again as he trails his lips over her neck and jawline.

The feel of him, nude, pressed against her, is enough to spur Lucy to reach between them to take his length in her hand. A frisson of electricity runs through her when she feels his shuddery breath against her collarbone, and she brushes her thumb more purposefully over the tip.

Wyatt's fingers dig into her hips when she repeats the motion, and she can't quite believe that _she_ is able to get this reaction from him. So she moves to do it again, but before she can process what's happening, Wyatt is whirling her around toward the bed.

And then suddenly, she's flat on her back, looking up at him, and she's finally able to really see him – _all_ of him. It's funny – not that she's really ever imagined the specifics, but given that the rest of him is so freaking good looking, she wouldn't have been surprised if he'd been… endowed like a porn star.

But he's not. He's… _normal_. Or maybe even a tiny bit toward the smaller end of normal. Which is simultaneously a smidge disappointing and a relief. So he's not huge. Too big can hurt. Normal is good. Normal is rare for them, so normal is good.

Still, he really does look _good_. Not that he ever doesn't, but seeing him like this…

It's then, just as he's moving to crawl over her on the bed, that it registers for Lucy that part of why he looks good is because he's obviously done at least a little manscaping recently. Which makes sense, she realizes, considering he obviously has the tools to keep his facial scruff just-so too… But it also serves to remind her that she _hasn't_ been keeping up with such things.

Not that she's ever been one for Brazilians or any waxing at all or anything, but especially when sex is a possibility, she generally likes to keep… things relatively neat. But now? It's been hard enough squeezing in time to shave her legs given the shared bathroom schedule; anything else has been impossible. And wholly unnecessary.

Until now.

Which leaves her feeling self-conscious now that Wyatt, kneeling near the end of the bed, is reaching for the waistband of her underwear and starting to slide them down.

It won't matter, right? She lifts her hips obediently, allowing him to pull the little scrap of fabric off and fully expecting him to just make his way up the bed to her.

But he doesn't. He heads in the opposite direction.

Lucy swallows hard once his intent is clear. Sex is one thing without having …cleaned things up. But this? "You don't have t-"

That weak protest earns her wicked smirk from Wyatt at first, but when he tries to nudge her knees apart and meets her gentle resistance, his expression turns to concern.

And suddenly his hesitancy leaves Lucy even more uneasy than her grooming potentially being a turnoff. She _likes_ oral sex. She can't let her own hangups derail this tonight. It's Wyatt. He's not that shallow. And if he is, then, well, whatever this is between them isn't going anywhere anyway.

So with another fortifying breath, she shakes her head and meets Wyatt's gaze. "I'm ok," she assures him in a whisper. She punctuates it with a wan smile, and then she lets her legs fall open.

Her breath catches when he presses a kiss to her inner thigh, and then she pretty much can't breathe at all once she feels his finger brush over her.

Catching his eyes on her again earns her another wicked smirk. Then his tongue.

Lucy's eyes flutter closed and her head presses back down onto the mattress at the sensation. For however tense she is, she can't deny that he feels amazing. So she wills herself to focus not on the awkwardness, but the fact that it's Wyatt. Like _this_.

She's even fairly successful at it, until he slips a finger inside her, and she feels the sudden tug as it catches.

Lucy rockets up onto her elbows in time to see the confusion in Wyatt's eyes.

Blushing furiously, she stammers out an explanation while still in the most awkward of positions. "That's, uh, the Nuvaring. Birth control," she adds haltingly, realizing that he may well not be fully up to speed on the range of contraceptives available these days, given how long ago it was that Jessica had been around, and depending what they'd relied on. "You won't – _shouldn't_ … feel it… or anything…"

She's grateful when Wyatt doesn't seem to care one way or another and just goes back to teasing her with his tongue, but Lucy's now just all the more self-conscious. Which makes her now second-guess every little noise and movement she's making. She's never been one to be loud – does he want her to be? It's not like he's being chatty at this point either… Would he rather that she run her nails through his hair, or just grip the bedspread? Hold still or press up against him? God, she fucking hates herself for getting lost in her own head now, because he really – _really_ – is good at this, but she can't help it, and, god, what if she's taking too long?

She musters all her will to try to focus on how he's making her feel, because if she can do that, then he won't be… stuck down there so long, and then she can actually try to make it good for _him_.

In the end, Lucy is able to relax _just_ enough. Though she's still anxious, feeling awkward when she forces a noise and equally as awkward when she stays quiet, she appreciates that Wyatt is doing this for her, and that everything he's doing does feel… amazing. But… she just can't quite get there.

Lucy is just starting to convince herself that she should just tell Wyatt to give up when he ends up finding just the right motion in just the right spot.

The "Oh, right there…" that she murmurs next is genuine. And when he smiles against her and continues with even more fervor, it's also a genuine "Wyatt…" that escapes her throat as she clamps her thighs tight around his head and tumbles over the edge with a strained whimper.

It's not exactly an… _edge_ to write home about. But that was her getting lost in her own head and nothing Wyatt did or didn't do. But now she can try to make it about him.

So she reaches down to cup Wyatt's face in her hand, and she can't help but smile as he presses a kiss to her palm and then follows that up with a trail of kisses gently placed up the length of her body. For as …awkward as some of this has been so far, she's still so grateful that it's happening at all.

Which means she's still smiling when Wyatt reaches her face wearing a matching grin.

In that fleeting instant, Lucy is able to forget the anxiety and how fraught this first time is, considering how much she loves him despite having no idea where his feelings really are.

But then she feels his erection against her hip, and now she's anxious all over again, that this – that _she_ – won't be able to live up to whatever Wyatt's hoping this will be. And not the sex. Well, at least not _just_ the sex, because, yeah, of course she's worried about that too, but... _Everything_. What _is_ this? What does all of this actually _mean_ to him?

She's distracted from those worries when Wyatt sweeps his lips over hers again, coaxing his way into her mouth with his tongue. Lucy has never really loved the taste of herself in a kiss, but with Wyatt, she finds she doesn't mind as much.

She _does_ love when he shifts above her, moving to center himself better between her legs to let more of his weight rest on her.

In other circumstances, Lucy might have been content to remain like that for a while, wrapped around each other, kissing lazily to slowly build to the next level of… activities.

Now? She's back in her own head, worried that Wyatt would get impatient or just… not want that kind of drawn-out prelude to the actual sex. Not that she doesn't want to get to him being inside her too – she absolutely does – but… The kissing is nice too, right?

Lucy tells herself that yes, it is, but quite possibly because she's feeling the emotional side of this whole thing more than he might be. And inadvertently revealing just how far in her heart is cannot happen. At least not yet.

It's sex. That's all it can be right now, until she knows better where he stands on the actual feelings involved.

So she lets her hands drift down, gently putting pressure on his hips and pushing him away from her just enough. And then grips him, guiding him to her with more bravado than she's actually feeling.

She hears Wyatt's breath catch when she first wraps her hand around him, and then a hiss as the tip of him first brushes against her. At that touch, the stupidly practical notion flits through her mind that she actually is glad that she was able to let go of her hangups, considering that without the lubricated condom she'd typically have for this, her nerves might have made this very uncomfortable without that extra boost from Wyatt already having coaxed an orgasm out of her.

But after that? Nothing else practical about any of her thoughts. Lucy hears nothing but the pounding of her own pulse as Wyatt slides into her, filling her heart as much as he's filling her body. She loves him. She loves him so much, and he feels so amazing, and she just never wants this moment to end.

Once he's fully buried in her, he stills, breathing a faint "Lucy…" into the crook of her neck. She tightens her legs around his thighs, clinging to him and still not quite believing that this is actually happening.

There's another few beats of stillness, then Wyatt props himself up ever so slightly on his arms and seeks out her gaze. "You ok?" he asks.

Lucy has to fight off the tears that threaten to well up at the sincere thoughtfulness of his murmured inquiry. Thankfully, they're kept at bay by a hard swallow, after which she smiles, reassuring him with a nod. "Definitely."

He grins back, then leans down to press his lips to hers. Which is good, but he catches Lucy off-guard when he rocks his hips mid-kiss. She pulls away from his lips with a muffled gasp; Wyatt just smirks at her reaction and repeats the motion, even more deliberately this time.

Lucy bites her lower lip and her eyes flutter shut when he does it again. It's actually _happening_. _They_ are happening. And she can't help but smile at that thought, even as her teeth still dig into her lip a little harder with each rock of Wyatt's hips.

After a couple more, she's composed herself enough to tighten the hold her legs have on Wyatt, meeting his thrusts halfway. It earns her a tortured groan from him the first time she does, which just serves to motivate her even more. The position they're in is pretty standard, nothing fancy or mind-blowing, but she really does want this to be good for him.

She's doing her best to make it so, pressing her lips to his neck whenever she can reach, raking her nails over his back, clenching around him when he's deep inside her…

But when Wyatt props himself up a bit, and reaches between them with the obvious intent of making it better for her, Lucy can't help but shy away with a pained hiss as soon as his thumb makes contact.

And she feels terrible for the alarmed expression on his face, accompanied by his confused, "Wh-?"

Lucy's pretty well mortified, even though it's just her body's reaction and it's just… how it is. "Sorry… I-," she stammers hurriedly. "It's too sensitive. I can't really…" she swallows hard before adding, "twice," "Not right away," she admits, explaining sheepishly.

She feels even worse when Wyatt's face falls upon hearing that. "It's ok," she insists, forcing a cheery tone. "I just- This is _good_ ," she insists, rephrasing. "Keep going," she urges, before qualifying the request by adding, "Really. You just can't-" Lucy trails off when it just becomes too ridiculous and awkward to keep speaking. In the end she just sighs. "I- Sorry."

It's written all over Wyatt's face that he's torn over what to do with that information – heed her request or… stop, or something. Which is the last thing that Lucy would ever want in this moment, so she follows up her verbal pleading with another clench of her muscles on him inside her as encouragement.

When she does, Wyatt lets out a tortured groan that fades into a soft chuckle. "Bossy," he breathes with a smirk, then leans down to brush his lips over hers once more.

Lucy breathes her own soft sigh of relief when she feels him moving in her again, awkward crisis mostly averted.

And maybe he would have anyway, but she can't help but think that he pays extra attention to the sensitive skin of her neck, and to her nipples, as a way to make up for not being able to let his hands venture elsewhere.

The thing is, it _works_. Before long – and after just telling Wyatt that it wasn't likely to happen – Lucy is surprised to feel that familiar buzz building again. She squeezes her eyes closed as Wyatt continues his rhythmic thrusts into her, trying to cling to the swell of sensation and mentally willing her body to sustain the reaction she's having to him.

But sooner than she'd have hoped, Wyatt buries his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her name hot against her skin. The movements of his hips get faster and erratic and then he's collapsing on her with a muffled groan, and she swears she can feel the heat of his release deep inside her.

Lucy wraps her arms around him, holding him close, one hand tracing lazy designs over his back, the fingertips of the other gently running through the sweat-damped hair at the back of his head. The promise of her second climax fades, accompanied by just a touch of disappointment, but it's hard to really care when she has Wyatt in bed with her. On her. _In_ her. And more than that, having admitted – vague as the admission was – that he cares about her. She just hopes this was all ok for him.

It takes him a second, but soon Lucy feels him brush a trail of faint kisses along her neck before he props himself up a bit. And with an expression somewhere between that unnerving look of awe and his regular everyday smirk, and even as he's still breathing heavily, he presses his lips to hers.

Smiling against his mouth, Lucy returns the kiss eagerly. In doing so, she can't help but also writhe against him a bit, squeezing him inside her. It earns her a residual shudder and a weak grunt from Wyatt in the midst of the kiss.

Eventually, Wyatt pulls away, leaning his head down against Lucy's shoulder once again.

Which gives Lucy a moment to try to wrap her head around that turn that their evening had taken. She really just can't believe that it _happened_. She really does expect to wake up any minute now, having dozed off in Hedy's living room. Or hell, maybe Rittenhouse had shown up, knocked her out, and all this is just some hallucination borne of a violent head injury.

She almost laughs out loud at that, because while she certainly hopes it's not the case, their current lives are crazy enough that it's not outside the realm of possibility. But she stifles the urge and instead smiles and turns to press a kiss on the side of Wyatt's head.

She's dismayed when that somehow prompts him to slide off her, landing close next to her atop the covers.

Which leaves Lucy squarely back in the territory of not quite knowing how to proceed. Because this is not any old guy, not any old first time sleeping together.

It's a small comfort that maybe Wyatt doesn't quite know what to do either, because he just lies there on his side, gazing at her with those big blue eyes of his, his left arm still lazily draped over her stomach and tracing nonsensical patterns across her skin.

Lucy doesn't really want the moment to end, but part of her is still grateful when Wyatt breaks the tension and speaks up. "I'm gonna…" he says haltingly, nodding behind him toward what must be the bathroom. But he eyes her questioningly before he moves. "Do you want-?"

She shakes her head with a wan smile. "You can go," she replies, considering she's quite sure she might need a moment to catch her breath – figuratively, at least, since she had indeed somehow managed to slow her actual breathing a few minutes ago – before she'll be anything but wobbly when she first stands up.

And just like that, he's trailing his hand over her and then rolling away to head off to the bathroom.

With Wyatt gone, Lucy swallows hard, still on her back on the bed. She's really just trying to wrap her mind around everything, but a wave of déjà vu hits her. It's not lost on her that he left her in bed like that once before, that night with Bonnie and Clyde. And if she'd been a little rattled by their conversation at the time, that was nothing compared to right now.

They _kissed_. They had _sex_. And it wasn't a mid-meltdown almost-kiss after not seeing each other for six weeks. It wasn't a quick brush of a kiss snuck in the back of a car. Tonight had been _everything_ , and from zero to sixty in no time at all.

And without any sort of talk about what it all meant or what they mean to each other, Lucy realizes yet again with a mix of nerves and dismay.

She doesn't get to dwell on that; she hears the bathroom door open, and, feeling silly still lying there on the bed, she jumps up to her feet. A little unsteady, she makes her way around the foot of the bed, fully prepared to awkwardly slip past Wyatt into the bathroom. But he catches her off-guard when he slides an arm around her waist and pulls her in for a lazy kiss.

Which Lucy is sure as hell not complaining about as she smiles against his lips, but… she does need the bathroom. So she pulls away reluctantly and offers an apologetic shrug in the direction of the doorway. "I should…"

Wyatt grins back at her, and her stomach does a little flip-flop as she ducks into the other room.

She quickly uses the bathroom, and finds a washcloth among the towels in the linen closet. After cleaning up a bit, she regards herself in the mirror.

They _happened_. But are they… going to _keep_ happening? She wants it, she can't deny that. And as much as it's going to be miserably awkward, she needs to find out what Wyatt wants. Lucy sighs.

She buys herself a few minutes by plucking a few more stray bobby pins from her hair, smoothing it out as best she can. There are also a few drawers beneath the counter, so in an effort to maintain some semblance of a normal routine – a rarity on their jumps – she peers into them in search of a toothbrush.

After one drawer full of various first aid products, Lucy does find a few packaged toothbrushes and small tubes of toothpaste in the next drawer. But, recalling that toothpastes were packaged in tubes made in part of lead until later in the 1940s, she yanks her hand back with a grimace, forgoing the dental hygiene. However, when she moves to close the drawer, she catches of glimpse of the rest of the contents.

A small tin emblazoned with 'Sheik'. Which sounds familiar… Lucy plucks the tin from the drawer, intending to open it, but beneath it is all the clue she needs. A container of Trojans. '1 Dozen Rolled Rubber Prophylactics'. A peek in the tin confirms that Sheiks are the same. And she can't help but smile and steal a glance in the direction of the other room where Wyatt waits.

She takes a deep breath and puts everything away. She's already been in there too long; the last thing she'd ever want him to think is that she's hiding from him, or ashamed, or having regrets or something.

When she finally emerges from the bathroom, the fire has been put out, the bed turned down, and the far bedside lamp turned on. Wyatt himself is on his side near the middle of the bed, half under the sheets and blankets, facing her, and very much looking to be asleep.

Her first thought? It's achingly domestic, this little routine they've just unwittingly gone through, her fussing in the bathroom while he readies everything for bed. And she wants that every night, bunker and whatever comes after.

Second? Forget about later nights, she's not sure what to do right now. Lucy bites her lip, regarding the bed. He really is in the middle – where did he mean for her to go?

Ultimately, she heads to the far side, because even though it's behind him, the lamp over there is on, and there's a clock that she can try to keep an eye on so they don't oversleep in the morning.

So she tiptoes to the lamp, turns it off, and eases herself into bed, where she gingerly reaches for the covers in an attempt to not wake Wyatt.

But he rolls over in the slivers of light streaming in from near the pool. "I'm not asleep," he murmurs, his voice gravelly.

Lucy's not quite sure what the response to that should be. Not that it matters, because the generic "Oh, I-" she stammers is cut off when she feels him reach for her, tugging her closer to him under the covers.

She's a little more at ease when he settles her against his shoulder, but not enough that she can bring herself to broach the topic of _this_. _Them_.

But she needs to. She _has_ to know where he stands.

So with a steadying breath, she speaks up softly. "…there actually is a bunch of condoms in the bathroom." And as soon as the words are out, she's mentally kicking herself for chickening out and bringing up such a ridiculous topic instead.

Wyatt chuckles, however, asking, "They make 'em already?"

"For a while," Lucy confirms. "Modern ones," she adds, clarifying. "I mean, people used whatever they could think of for a long time. But eventually they were actually rubber – made by Goodyear."

"Seriously?" Wyatt scoffs.

"Yeah, same as tires," Lucy replies. "But, um, latex basically took off in the 30s and they're getting better and more popular." It's miserably awkward, but she's glad she's at least managed to refrain from pointing out – to the soldier – that condoms were a big deal in the military in just another year or so during World War II because World War I had left the troops veritably infested with all sorts of STDs. Not exactly reasonable pillow talk. Wyatt still doesn't say anything, so she stiltedly adds, "I guess Hedy wanted guests to have whatever they might need."

That earns another little snorted chuckle from Wyatt, but nothing more.

"Makes me wonder who else did what right here," Lucy adds, just to fill the silence. "Famous people, even."

"Rising musical stars Logan and Preston?" Wyatt murmurs, wearing a smirk as he does.

Lucy's glad for the darkened room in that moment; she feels a rush of heat in her cheeks at that first verbal allusion to them… having done what they just did. But she has no idea how to respond. She hates that she's just lying there babbling through a lecture on the history of condoms, and beyond that, she really hopes that she didn't somehow inadvertently make it seem like they happened because they just happened to be there in that setting, just like any other famous casual couple that parties too hard at Hedy's and falls into bed together.

She needs to just ask him what he's thinking, what he's feeling. Was he really ready for this? Is he ok with it? Even if she may not necessarily like the answer, she just needs to know.

So, mustering what courage she can, Lucy pipes up once more, softly starting, "Wyatt, uh- I-" But his breathing is deep and even. "Wyatt?" she whispers.

He's asleep.

And the last thing Lucy would want to do is wake him up when he looks so… peaceful. God knows none of them get much peace these days.

Not that _she_ has much peace, not yet knowing what tonight meant to him.

Still, she can't bring herself to wake him. So she presses a gentle kiss to his bare chest – the closest part of him to her – and tries to imprint the night in her memories in case it's all they get, if he were to regret it.

For all her emotional turmoil, Lucy does manage to fall asleep; she's still wrapped up in Wyatt in bed, which can't be seen as a _bad_ thing. Not to mention she's exhausted.

When she blinks awake some hours later, it's still dark, but there's still enough light filtering in from by the pool to see Wyatt next to her. He's on his stomach, his face smushed against the mattress with his pillow bunched up at the headboard rather than under his head, one arm up under the pillow and the covers tugged most of the way up his back. The tug of affection in her chest is strong, and she rolls over from on her back to her side, curling up to face him and just… look at him.

But, dammit, she has to pee. Not urgently… but enough. Enough that now it's on her mind and she'll just keep thinking about it instead of falling back to sleep. Lucy sighs, then reluctantly peels the sheet back and sits up. Wyatt doesn't stir behind her, so she stands up.

The guesthouse is illuminated enough that she can make her way to the bathroom easily, but god, she hates this part. She always feels so silly, running around naked in the dark however many hours after the sex. She bites her lip, scanning the room. Wyatt's white shirt is obvious, bright even in the darkened blue of night. It's tempting, sitting there draped over the coffee table, and Lucy toys with the idea of tugging that on.

She can't deny the little thrill she feels at that prospect, but she frowns soon after. If there's _any_ chance that he regrets what happened – and she's pretty sure there _is_ a chance – then she can't force the issue and make it even more awkward by being there his shirt right in front of his face as soon as he wakes up later. It's too much.

So instead, Lucy zeros in on her slip, still puddled on the floor, half under the cabinet thing that Wyatt had pressed her against. She tiptoes over to that side of the room to retrieve it, then slides it on over her head.

It's when she's standing there near the cabinet, tugging the slip into place that she realizes, with mild embarrassment, just how wildly askew the decorative items on said cabinet are. A huge framed picture is very precariously in danger of falling down behind the cabinet, a bottle of perfume is knocked over, some weird statue thing is tipped back against the precariously perched picture, and in general, everything has been shoved aside by her rear end and the haze of hormones and emotions that she and Wyatt had been caught up in. And then replaced by her bra, which is still sitting there, holding her locket.

As quietly as she possibly can, Lucy straightens the knick-knacks into some semblance of order, hoping that she gets it close to how it looked before. Or at least less like a tornado of time traveler sex had blown through. The bra, she relocates over to the couch, setting it on top of the dress to make sure she doesn't somehow forget it, even if they have to leave in a hurry.

That done, she still has to pee. So she ducks into the bathroom to get that out of the way. She winces at the noise of the flush, and once she returns to the main room and her eyes have adjusted back to the darkness, it looks like Wyatt had woken up briefly to roll over, given that he's now flat on his back. But at least he seems to be asleep again.

And for a moment, Lucy can't help but just stand there, watching him sleep. It still doesn't even seem _real_ , that they're there like this, the two of them.

She's still musing over that rather incredulously when a yawn catches her off-guard. And she knows she needs to try to get more sleep; they still need to deal with the Rittenhouse handoff tomorrow, and logically she's well aware that's not something she should be sleepwalking through if she can help it.

There's a little less logic at play when Lucy reaches her side of the bed again. It would be so easy just to slide over to Wyatt lying there on his back, rest her head on his shoulder and curl up against his side.

But she's just not that bold. More like a champion at second-guessing herself.

So instead, she hesitantly tucks herself beneath the covers once more. She takes care not to disturb Wyatt by lying on her side, facing away from him.

It's just a moment later that he surprises her; he doesn't seem to wake up, but somehow he's coherent enough to sidle over to her. Lucy holds her breath as he slings one arm over her waist as he curls close around her.

When she's sure that he really is asleep, Lucy lets that breath out shakily and relaxes back into Wyatt's embrace.

She can't help it; she loves him. She tried for a long time, but there's just no denying it anymore. And this? Snuggled up in bed? Amazing. But she knows it could turn out so badly.

Lucy trusts him, she does. And she believes him and his insistence that he truly has finally let himself move on from Jessica and the ensuing years when he was seemingly so wrapped up in guilt and self-loathing.

But just because he's moved on doesn't mean that he's moved on to _love_. She's terrified that even if he doesn't regret last night, she's still so much more invested in _them_ than he is. And if that's true, and if he changes his mind or backs out at some point? She's the one who gets hurt.

Another yawn interrupts that dismal train of thought and Lucy reminds herself that she really does need the extra couple hours of sleep if she can get it.

So rather than focus on the potential for things to go wrong, she conjures up the very vivid memories of the night before. Which does the trick; with Wyatt's arm around her and a faint smile on her face, she drifts off to sleep once more.

* * *

The embarrassment over getting caught by Rufus is already a distant memory as Wyatt leans over her, and Lucy eagerly goes along with it.

Because they _don't have to tell anyone right away_. Which implies they'll tell them _later_. Which in turn means that there _is_ a _later_ for _them_.

He _wants_ this. He doesn't regret it, or see it as a mistake, or… anything like that.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Lucy still knows that it's only one aspect of her worries that have been assuaged; sure, they'll be _some_ thing, but what is that something? She loves him, but what if he just means them to be… friends with benefits or something like that?

She forces herself to ignore that for now; they're in bed, he just confirmed that he wants her, now _and_ later, and she wants him. Oh, she _wants_ him. And she wants him even more considering how obvious it is that _he_ wants _her_ , the evidence of which is pressing against her thigh.

But they're not in 1941 to have sex. Again. They have to go get Rufus from Hedy Lamarr's house so they can get 'Citizen Kane' back where it belongs, as absurd as that sounds.

"Wyatt…" Lucy murmurs in the weakest of protests as he drops a line of kisses along her collarbone. "Wyatt, we can't-"

But he just cuts her off when he redirects the kisses to her mouth.

Lucy gives in for a moment, sure she will never tire of the feel of his lips on hers. But she eventually manages to tear herself away, pressing him up off her by the shoulders, albeit reluctantly. "We have to… _go_ ," she reminds him with dismay. "Those guys are meeting and Rufus is-"

He just grins, retorting, "Not 'til 10," as he leans down toward her once more.

Wyatt is definitely stronger than she is, so pushing him away is futile; his breath is hot against her neck again before she can even blink.

"I know," she protests, trying to squirm away, "but-"

His response to that is to jerk his head up with a smirk to eye the clock just to the side of the bed. "It's only… 6:52," he declares from above her, before lowering his head to the crook of her neck yet again.

Lucy somehow musters a plaintive "Wyatt…" but she barely means it, so it can't be all that convincing anyway.

Except, somehow it is. Wyatt does stop, and leans back with hesitance and worry suddenly etched all over his face. "Do you not want-" He falters, then, still motionless above her, rephrases, "I'll stop, I-"

"No!" Lucy cuts him off before he can even get halfway to where he's going with that sentence. Jesus, the _last_ thing she'd ever want to do in this situation is make him think _she's_ the one who's somehow uncomfortable being together again, using Rufus and Rittenhouse as an excuse to avoid him. "No, I _do_ -" she insists. But he still doesn't look fully convinced. So she lifts the leg he's not currently draped over and wraps it around him, pulling him closer. "I do," she adds once more, as she runs her hands over his bare chest. "But…" she stammers with a shrug, "Rufus…"

Apparently Lucy's touch is the convincing Wyatt needs to go back to convincing her.

"-can wait a few minutes," he finishes for her. The smirk back on his face, he rather quickly resituates himself between her legs. And he's halfway to kissing her again when he backs off once more. This time, he's wearing a sheepish expression, and Lucy could swear that the tips of his ears are even pinker than they were. "Believe me," he mutters, rolling his eyes, "I know fast isn't always a good thing, but obviously I've got that covered. We've got time."

It takes Lucy a split second to register what he's implying, considering he's kissing her again and his tongue is doing some… _thing_ that she's never going to say no to. But when their lips part and he focuses his attention lower again, it finally clicks. He… thought he didn't last long enough? Last night?

At first, that's a little baffling, because while, no, it's not like they re-wrote the book on tantra or anything, it had been far from some fumbling over-before-it-started quickie. But when it really sinks in – his sheepishness, the self-deprecating line – Lucy feels that aching tug in her heart again, along with his mouth on her chest. For all her nerves last night – the shaving, the being too quiet, everything – she'd never really stopped to consider that _Wyatt_ would be nervous or feeling pressure to… perform, or whatever. It could well have been… _years_ since… for him.

And she really doesn't know how to process that. So she does the only thing she can think to do – give in to his argument about having plenty of time, which, really, was pretty much always going to happen anyway. She pulls his face back to hers, coaxing him in for another kiss.

That kiss deepens, hands wander more and more frantically, and just when Lucy's expecting him to slide himself into her, he throws her for a loop and instead braces her against him and rolls them over.

The surprise must show on her face when she lands with her thighs straddling him and her slip-covered breasts pressed against his chest, because right away, Wyatt's chuckling and teasing, "This can't be the one place you don't want to be in charge…"

Lucy's not quite sure how to feel about that assumption – mildly offended? Embarrassed? She definitely feels her cheeks flush at the brash insinuation of her feminist leanings somehow translating to any sort of dominance in bed. Sure, she likes being on top sometimes – it certainly has its merits – but it has nothing to do with anything but how it feels. And she usually doesn't end up comfortable enough for this position as early as the first 'morning after' with bright sunlight streaming in the windows. And it's more than just the position… For everything they already did last night, the sudden salacious undertones and innuendos are… not quite something she's used to yet.

In the end, Wyatt's cheeky expression gets the best of her and they both end up giggling, then melting into another kiss. And that kiss deepens enough, quickly enough, that before long, she's forgetting any sort of trepidation she might have had and she's pushing up off his chest to kneel over him.

She takes him in her hand and, after tugging up the hem of her slip and getting herself situated, sinks down slowly on him. Their gazes are locked as she does, and somehow that, coupled with the soft sunlight streaming in, makes the moment even more intense than the night before. Which Lucy wouldn't have ever thought possible.

Once she's lowered herself down, Lucy can't help but slide her knees a little wider, letting gravity help bury Wyatt even deeper inside her.

Her eyes flutter closed and she bites her lip at the sensation, inwardly glad he convinced her of this position, though she's not ready to admit it and give him that victory just yet.

Lucy must lose track of time, just sitting there relishing the feel of him, because the next thing she realizes, Wyatt is gripping her thighs, his fingertips digging in, and uttering a strained, "Lucy, you gotta move…"

Her eyes fly open and she flushes sheepishly. "Sorry…"

Wyatt just grins from down on the bed and reminds her, "You're the one worried about what time it is."

Lucy doesn't miss the challenging tone in his statement, but rather than slide back up off him, she squeezes her muscles and tightens suddenly around him.

He lets out a guttural moan and writhes under her, his fingers digging into her legs. "Fuck…" he breathes, and Lucy can't help but help but feel a little flicker of pride at being able to get that reaction from him.

And before he can recover from that, she suppresses the remainder of her persistent nerves and lifts herself up, tilting her hips for extra friction. Wyatt lets out another groan, which gets even louder when Lucy lowers herself once more.

She doesn't even get a chance to repeat the motion before Wyatt's pulling himself up enough to tug at the straps of her slip. "Can this… go away?" he asks, before capturing her lips with his and letting one hand drift down to grab a bunched-up fistful of the offending garment.

"Uh huh," Lucy breathes against his mouth. And just like that, he whips it up over her head and off, flung to who knows where as her bare chest is once again on the receiving end of an appreciative gaze. Yet, for as much as she might like him to act out that appreciation with his hands, or tongue, they don't actually have all that much time.

So with him still buried inside her, Lucy musters up a sassy grin and pushes Wyatt back down to the pillows.

She repeats her tilted-pelvis slide up off him, speeding up the rhythm a bit, and, unlike last night, she's able to appreciate when Wyatt reaches down, adding some necessary friction with his thumb.

Too much of a good thing, it turns out. Before long, Lucy's unable to hold off anymore, writhing against him as he rubs faster and faster. The next thing she knows, she's unraveling on top of him with a whimper, going limp and slumping against his chest.

Breathing heavily as the waves of sensation pulse through her and eventually fade, she feels bad that it happened so quickly for her, before he was there too. But it does at least give her the opportunity to focus one hundred percent on him now. Once she has her wits about her again, she pushes herself back up and rocks her hips on him once more.

Wyatt certainly doesn't complain about that, so she makes it a point to go right back to her earlier motions, wanting those same reactions from him. And it's good, _so_ good. Until it's… less than good.

Lucy can admit that it's been longer than she'd have liked since she was in this position – literally and figuratively – which leaves her struggling to sustain the pace that seems to get the most reaction out of Wyatt. Her one hip is sore and her thighs are both on the verge of cramping, but when she tries to shift slightly to alleviate the aches, it just doesn't work. She can't find the rhythm she'd had going, and moreover, the new angle causes Wyatt to slip out, not once but twice.

Which is insanely frustrating, and not just sexually. Her stomach is back in knots because why can't she just do this? Why can't this just go right?

At least Wyatt seems less fazed; he stifles a disappointed groan, but then chuckles. "Switch?" he questions.

She's disappointed that she couldn't follow through, given how much Wyatt seemed to like the position, and considering that he seems to think he doesn't even last all that long, but Lucy's well aware that they don't have much time – certainly not enough to keep up the futile flailing atop him just to try and save face. So she gives a weak shrug and a resigned smile before easing herself down next to him.

Very quickly, Lucy once again realizes that Wyatt _definitely_ doesn't seem fazed; he's climbing back over her in a heartbeat, and deftly sliding inside her a breath later. She wraps herself around him, urging him even deeper. He surprises her by taking her up on that urging, gripping her hips and thrusting into her, hard, a few times in rapid succession. Yet again, he must see that surprise on her face, because he immediately slows, asking with concern, "This okay?"

And it is, it really is, because Lucy doesn't think she'll ever get over the sense of amazement at the fact that Wyatt Logan wants her – _her_ – so badly that he can't control himself. "Yeah," she breathes, "keep going."

So, after shooting her a half-grin, Wyatt picks up the pace once again. It really doesn't take him that much longer; just a moment later, Lucy can feel him speed up even more, and can see in his face that he's fighting his own body to try to last longer. But she just wants to see him unravel. So she tightens around him as best she can, silently urging him to let go. She wants to not-so-silently urge him on too, but she's still not quite comfortable with that sort of vocalization yet.

It's of no matter anyway, because just a split second later, Wyatt's face contorts and he releases himself into her with a strangled grunt before collapsing down onto her.

With a contented smile, Lucy hugs him closer as his breathing slows in the crook of her neck. She is so grateful for him. For everything he does, always, but for making last night and this morning perfect somehow. Because it really wasn't, but somehow it was. Perfectly _im_ perfect. And though she's still some degree of scared that she's so much more invested in them than he is, she's at least starting to believe that he means it and that they really are still going to be… something, together, for more than just this blip of 1941.

1941\. Shit.

As much as she doesn't want to push Wyatt off her, Lucy does it anyway, partially squirming out from under him to crane her neck toward the bedside clock.

She lets out a sigh of relief; they didn't miss anything. They still have a little bit of time before they should go find Rufus. Time in which to try to make themselves at least some version of presentable.

"We should… clean up?" She suggests hesitantly, even as she lazily runs her hands up and down Wyatt's back. "I should… shower," she adds, with a slight wrinkle of her nose.

"Me too," Wyatt sighs in resignation, sliding out and off her unceremoniously. "I'd say we could share," he smirks from next to her, "but I might get distracted, which won't help us get outta here."

Lucy finds herself blushing once more even as she smiles over at him. But then neither of them moves, so she glances at the bathroom, asking stiltedly, "Do you want-? Or should I…?"

"You go," Wyatt replies, then pulls himself up to sit. "I gotta… find my clothes…" he adds, glancing around with a befuddled frown.

"Ok," Lucy agrees, promising, "I'll be quick." So she pulls herself up to sit as well, and before heading to the bathroom, she presses an impulsive kiss to the back of his bare shoulder. And she hurries into the bathroom before she can see any reaction from him that might make her second guess that impulse.

Her mind is racing once alone in the next room. Last night. This morning. Not telling anyone until they're ready… _Every_ thing.

But she doesn't have time to dwell on any of that. There's Rittenhouse to deal with. And, she reminds herself, glancing at her reflection in the mirror, she needs to shower and tame her sex hair in short order before dealing with Rittenhouse. A tiny laugh bubbles up and escapes her throat; at least it's relatively modern times and she _can_ take a shower. How different would last night have been were it 1841 instead of 1941? Then again, maybe not so different, she realizes with a warm rush in her stomach, recalling Wyatt lying shirtless on the bed in that ornate hotel room back in 1865.

But she doesn't have time to think about that, so she shakes the mental image from her mind and focuses once again on the task at hand in 1941.

Lucy tugs open a linen closet to grab a towel. Setting that on the counter, she turns back to the array of unfamiliar bath products on the other shelf. She smiles when she spots a bottle of Listerine; that, at least, hasn't changed much. So she opens it up and takes a swish. While working it around in her mouth, she eyes the rest of the array of bottles and jars. 'Mum – the delicate deodorant' emblazoned on a small tin catches her eye. And ok, no, it's not as if they've all smelled like flowers on their jumps through time – especially the longer ones – but Lucy can't help but be a little more sensitive about the prospect of off-putting odor now that she and Wyatt are… whatever they are. It's silly, she knows, but she can't help it. She puts off that decision until later, but makes sure to leave the tin on the counter as she leans to spit out the mouthwash. With one last look in the closet, she frowns at the 1940s versions of shampoo and other hair care. Though, she realizes, it's not like she has time to wash and dry her hair anyway, so she supposes she doesn't have to worry about that. Thankfully, next she spots a lone bar of plain old Ivory soap, which should be safe. And, quickly unpackaging it, she ducks into the shower.

She twists her hair up into a knotted bun to keep it from getting wet, then quickly begins to wash up. And she definitely isn't thinking about Wyatt's hands on her last night, and just this morning, as she rubs the soapy lather over her skin.

Except she totally is thinking about him.

Which she doesn't have time for. So she forces herself to hastily finish washing herself, then rinses off as fast as she can.

But when she turns off the water, preparing to exit the tub and dry off, there's still a… liquid… sound, and a little rustling, and very near to her on the other side of the shower curtain.

Lucy's heart pounds a little – surely she'd have heard a scuffle if someone nefarious had forced their way into the guesthouse, so it must be- "Wyatt?" she ventures, tugging back the shower curtain. Only to find him simultaneously tucking himself back into his boxers with one hand and closing the lid on the toilet with the other. "Oh, sorry," she stammers, blushing furiously.

At least he's just as pink as she is as he hurriedly flushes and turns to wash his hands over in the sink. "Sorry, I had to…" he mumbles, trailing off. "I thought you heard me come in."

"Oh," Lucy replies, trying to swallow the awkward lump in her throat. "It's ok." And it _is_ – how many times on their jumps to wherever and whenever have he and Rufus barely bothered to walk away before turning around and just… going? All the while with her grumbling about how unfair it is that they can do that while she has to struggle with petticoats while squatting behind a rock, or tree, or shrub… She's just caught a little off-guard, once again, by the overwhelming domestic casualness that she and Wyatt have somehow stumbled into in a matter of hours here in this little 1941 hideaway.

It's a chilled shiver that's catching her off-guard next, rather than the domesticity; amidst the other weirdness, she's still standing there awkwardly, naked and still dripping wet from the shower.

Wyatt's still at the sink, drying his hands off with the small hand towel, very definitely blocking her path to the larger towel she'd set out for herself. "…could I have that, uh, other towel?" she manages to ask, not wanting to have to clumsily reach around him for it.

He glances at it, and then surprises her. Instead of just handing it over once he picks it up, he unfurls it, gives it a little shake, and wraps it around her before offering her a hand to help her out of the tub.

Lucy's touched by the simple gesture, even more so when he takes it a step further and gives a bit of a gentle rub over the towel, beginning to dry her off.

But the moment is fleeting; they're both well aware he's not going to fully towel her off because that would be ridiculous. So his hands still, and with a bashful little half-grin, he gives her towel-covered upper arms an affectionate squeeze and backs away.

"Thanks," Lucy stammers, with what she's sure is an equally bashful smile. "Um, all yours," she adds, just to have something to say. Though she amends it quickly, clarifying, "Shower" with a nod behind her at the tub. The last thing she wants is him somehow interpreting that as a declaration that _she_ is _his_. Not when she still doesn't know just what he's envisioning this… them… to actually be.

With that, she slinks around him toward the counter, adjusting the towel around her torso and reaching to grab the few things she needs before she heads out to the main room to get ready. After all, they still have a film to recover, and time is ticking.

In doing so, she catches a glimpse of the Listerine, which Wyatt might want, so she turns back to mention it to him before he takes his shower.

And… he's already stripped off his boxers, just getting ready to reach to turn on the water.

Lucy swallows hard. "…Oh, um, there's mouthwash."

Wyatt cranes his neck to see the counter, then laughs when he spies the Listerine label. "The real thing," he notes.

"Yeah," she nods. "Don't, uh, use the toothpaste though," she adds as an afterthought, not wanting him to get any surprises if he explores the other 1941 amenities that she'd found. "Tubes are made with lead..."

That earns a grimace from him, and then before she realizes what's happening, the water is running and Wyatt's in the shower.

Lucy takes a steadying breath as she just stands there, a handful of bobby pins and deodorant, clutching her towel tight around her chest.

The past eight or so hours have been a crazy whirlwind that somehow have landed her casually sharing a bathroom, naked, with Wyatt. Who is also very naked. She'd been intending to let him have privacy while she got ready out in the bedroom, but… he didn't seem to have any such notion, having come in while she was in the shower, hanging his clothes on the hooks on the door, and then jumping in the tub himself while she's still there in her towel.

So… she can probably stay and use the mirror in the bathroom while he showers? It's definitely more casual than a normal 'first morning after' would be for her, but if he's ok with it, she definitely doesn't hate the idea.

Still a bit tentative, she gingerly sets down the bobby pins and deodorant tin, then towels the rest of her body dry. In doing so, her mind drifts once more to the mind-blowing, unbelievable fact that Wyatt's hands had been many of those same places. His body on hers, his body _in_ hers… Lucy feels her cheeks flush at the memory, feeling as if it really must have been a dream.

But she can't get caught up in that, she reminds herself. They still have a job to do.

And if she's not back out in the other room, dressed or at least close to it, by the time Wyatt's done with the shower, there's going to be another who round of temptation – or at least awkwardness. So Lucy tucks the towel into itself above her breasts, applies a bit of the deodorant (not without a healthy dose of skepticism), and regards her hair in the mirror. The knot she'd twisted it into for her shower has unraveled, leaving limp, uncurled, very much undone strands hanging listlessly over her shoulders. And they definitely don't have time for any sort of curlers or curling iron – though Hedy probably has all that somewhere there in the bathroom – so she's doing to have to just try to pin it up into something passable.

…after she gets the ridiculous dress on, she realizes. That has to be first.

Lucy gives herself one last glance in the half-steamed up mirror and, after a few quick swipes at her eyes to try to neaten up the remnants of yesterday's eyeliner, hurries out into the main room just before she hears Wyatt turn off the water in the shower.

She stops short when she sees the bed, yet again caught off-guard and taken aback by Wyatt and his thoughtful actions. Not only did he roughly straighten up the bed – enough to look neater, but still mussed enough that it's quite clear it was… used… and that the linens need to be laundered – but he's also gathered up all her clothes and laid them there for her – dress, slip, bra with the locket, and even her underwear. And her shoes are right there next to the bed.

Lucy has to swallow a lump in her throat and she squeezes her eyes shut momentarily. It's so sweet that he thought to do that, and she knows what she wants it to mean, because she wants it – and him – like that every morning, but… She sighs and opens her eyes. He's military. Keeping things orderly like that might just be second nature to him. Doesn't mean anything about whatever they are, or will be.

Dropping her towel, Lucy attempts to push the uncertainties from her mind. She can't let herself get distracted; there's too much at stake today. Quickly, she steps into her underwear, then tugs on the bra, taking care to tuck her locket back inside once it's on. The slip is next, and then she's wrangling the mass of fabric of the white dress back over her head.

She's just letting it fall into place when she nearly jumps out of her skin at the feel of a hand at her waist. But as quickly as she'd been startled, she eases into the touch when she hears Wyatt's voice at her ear, asking, "Almost ready?" It's all Lucy can do to nod, because that hand at her waist is carefully easing the side zipper of her dress up, and it's nearly as enticing a gesture as when he'd tugged it in the opposite direction the night before.

What she wouldn't give to be able to just lean back against him, turn around in his arms and live out a repeat of last night.

But they can't. He's already off across the room, easing himself down onto the small couch to pull on his shoes and socks.

The urge to be near him won't quit, however. Lucy plucks her sandals from where Wyatt had placed them near the bed and crosses the room to the couch. And, with a wan, bashful smile at him when he looks over at her, she eases herself down next to him to slip on her shoes.

They manage to both finish up their respective shoe putting-on at almost the exact same time.

So, suddenly, they're at an impasse – no shower beckoning, no more clothes to throw on. Just the two of them, alone, together, on a couch, and maybe, just maybe, with a few minutes to spare to… figure a few things out, Lucy hopes.

Before the silence can get too awkward, she takes a deep breath. They _have_ to talk about… this. Whatever this is.

And for as much as she wants… _every_ thing with him, she won't push it. She can't push him, that's why it's taken this long to get even as far as they have. If he just wants secret sex and not telling anyone else in the bunker for a while, she's still on board. He had the wife; he gets to dictate what he's ready for and when. She just _needs_ to know what exactly that is…

"Wyatt," she starts, hoping her worries and the slight shake in her voice aren't too obvious. "I know we-"

She's interrupted by a rather insistent series of knocks at the guesthouse's door, followed by Rufus' voice informing them, "Hey, we gotta go."

Lucy feels herself deflate just a little; will she never get a chance to work up the nerve to talk to Wyatt about… everything?

Her disappointed train of thought is once again interrupted, this time as Rufus adds in a stilted tone, "…I'm not coming in. But we gotta go."

Lucy's gaze darts automatically to Wyatt, feeling the warm flare of a blush tingeing her cheeks; they both well know _why_ Rufus is hesitant to barge in.

Wyatt scoffs, rolling his eyes even as Lucy thinks she can make out the faintest hint of pink coloring his complexion too. "You can come in," he calls out, looping his undone tie around his neck.

"Nope," Rufus refuses from outside, "not making that mistake again."

With an exasperated huff, Wyatt stands and marches over to the door, then flings it open. "We're dressed, ok?"

Even from farther into the room behind Wyatt, Lucy can make out the hesitant, wary once-over that Rufus gives them both, as if he somehow had thought Wyatt would have, for some reason, been lying about the two of them having put clothes on already. "Hedy has to be on set," he eventually explains. "So she's giving us a ride. Gotta go."

Wyatt turns and shoots her a helpless shrug, and Lucy sighs, lamenting the loss of a few extra minutes in the safe haven of the little guesthouse. But Rufus and Wyatt are both right; they have to go. It's why they're here. It just means that not only is her heart still in limbo, not knowing where on the span from 'casual friends with benefits' to 'in love and living happily ever after' Wyatt's current mindset is, but she also still didn't do anything with her hair. Not the biggest deal if they were in their own time, but far from ideal when facing a car ride with someone who looks like Hedy Lamarr.

But there's really nothing she can do with both Rufus and Wyatt, not to mention Hedy, apparently, waiting. So Lucy darts to the bathroom to grab a handful of the bobby pins, discreetly nudges her own side to reassure herself that the locket really is once again safely tucked into her bra, and makes her way to the door. Just before ducking out after Wyatt, she can't help but turn back, casting one last wistful glance at the otherwise nondescript room that she now knows she will _never_ forget.

She hurries outside, stopping short when she realizes that she managed to completely forget about the uneven gravel path. But no sooner has she skidded to a stop, and before she can even process what's happening, Wyatt is hoisting her up by her waist and whisking her down the path as she clings awkwardly to his shoulder.

Lucy's too flustered to even protest, the rush of both embarrassment of being carried and desire at his having his hands on her again combining to momentarily overwhelm her senses.

And then suddenly she's plopped back down on the smooth concrete at the end of the pool, and with a soft squeeze of her waist from Wyatt after setting her down, he and Rufus are off and running, literally.

Well, jogging, but still. Apparently Rufus has the impression that Hedy isn't one to be left waiting.

So Lucy scurries after them, trying to keep up while simultaneously twisting her hair up into a bun again so it's at least not just… hanging there. She manages to get a whole two bobby pins in to try to hold it before she can see Hedy in the house waiting for them, and before she knows it, they're all being herded out to where a car sits waiting.

The guys gesture for Hedy to get in first, then Lucy. Which brings a dilemma. Sit next to Hedy, leaving Wyatt possibly thinking she's avoiding him? Not to mention then having to face him, and Rufus, the whole ride? Or sit opposite Hedy, and possibly make it look like she's expecting Wyatt to sit next to her? And leave them both facing Rufus after the awkwardness of earlier that morning?

Lucy knows she can't stand there dawdling like an idiot forever; she climbs in next to Hedy and spends the rest of the ride forcing chipper conversation with Hedy, turning to face her – and avoiding looking at both Wyatt and Rufus – the whole drive. It's ridiculous and she knows it, but she can't help her stupid, stupid nerves and unease about wherever she and Wyatt have landed after last night.

She's ever so grateful when they finally arrive at Paramount. Plans are quickly made; Hedy has to get to her dressing room, so the three of them will take care of getting the film, then will find her on set to make the transfer of the actual canisters to her to return to their rightful place.

That sorted out, the next order of business, as Lucy stiltedly points out to the guys, is to change. Eveningwear is going to be way too conspicuous when trying to somehow steal back 'Citizen Kane'.

So they hurry back to the same costume area they'd been in the day before. Where, Lucy is ashamed to admit, even to herself, she finds herself reluctant to put the same old dress from the day before back on. It's stupid, it's so stupid. But some silly, girlish part of her doesn't want to just throw on that same thing that Wyatt's already seen her in. She wants to look _nice_ for him. Now that they're… well, now that they are whatever they are.

The trouble is, nothing on the racks seems quite right. Too fancy. Too revealing. Too big. Too… not right.

Embarrassingly, she's still rifling through the clothes when Wyatt emerges from around one of the racks, already changed into _his_ outfit from the day before.

"Oh, I'm just…" she stammers, grappling for a logical explanation for dawdling. But she has none. Her face flushing warmer, Lucy swallows and manages to finish, "looking…"

As silly as she knows she sounds, it still earns her a bit of a smirk from Wyatt. Her breath catches a little in her throat when she catches his gaze dropping to her lips as he inches a little clo-

And then Rufus appears just behind Wyatt.

Lucy backs up by a few steps immediately. "Sorry, sorry," she gushes in apology, flustered. "Like, two seconds, and I'll be done. Um, you guys just go," she instructs both the men. Not that they could _do_ anything, but being alone with Wyatt if only Rufus went outside is a temptation she doesn't want to have to deal with. "Um, watch for him outside. I'll be right there."

She sees Wyatt's reluctance immediately. She _also_ sees that Rufus sees, given the look of amusement he's shooting both of them.

"Really," Lucy insists, just needing this awkward moment to be over. "I'll be right out."

They both finally leave, and she frantically paws through the one rack she hasn't looked at yet. She's not entirely convinced about the floral-patterned dress she manages to find – maybe it could be pretty? But it's kind of plain…

It doesn't _matter_ , she tells herself. It doesn't matter. Wyatt won't care, and that's not why they're there anyway. And she has to hurry.

* * *

Lucy scurries after Wyatt; Rufus won't be able to find Hedy and give her the film _that_ quickly, especially if she's in the middle of a scene or something, but still. Once he comes looking for them, they have to be ready to get out of there. That would have been the case anyway, but after that security guard… Wyatt's right; they can't be around once people start asking questions.

Once they close in on the gate where they'd agreed to meet Rufus, she keeps her head on a swivel – watching for anyone watching for them, and also keeping an eye out for cars they can steal.

"Just… any car?" she hisses at Wyatt. Thankfully, there are plenty of options near the gate, but she has no idea if there's something he'd prefer to ease the stealing process. Normally, they don't have quite as much of a selection. But then it dawns on her when she spots a car off to her right. "Oh! Convertible," she points out in hushed tones. "We don't even have to break in."

Wyatt follows her gaze for a second, but then after another glance around wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. "Nah, come on."

She's thrown off a little when he grabs her hand to tug her with him, but Lucy manages to get her wits about her quickly enough and yanks right back on Wyatt's arm. There's no reason she can see _not_ to take that convertible, and she may have fallen for him, and they may have slept together now, but if he thinks that somehow having has sex means that he can suddenly write her off as anything but his intellectual equal on these missions, then he has another thing coming. She glares at him when he turns back to her. "But it-"

He cuts her off with a soft smile. "I know," he says, squeezing her hand and confirming, "It's a good idea. But," he adds, his smile turning to a knowing, cheeky grin, "there's another one up front. Easier getaway."

And there is another one, she realizes immediately, spotting the navy car with its top down, just a few parking spaces ahead. He's right. She snaps her mouth closed, chastened. The annoyance that had started to flare fades – not entirely, but it ends up tangled up with sudden onslaught of other emotions. He knows her so well that he knew exactly where her mind had jumped to, and he knew exactly what to say and how to say it to set her straight. He's somehow an infuriatingly perfect mix of thoughtful and cocky, of sweet and frustrating.

"And it's a nicer color," he adds with a smirk.

Lucy can't help but smirk right back with a roll of her eyes. Because that's how he's always been, and that's what she'd fallen in love with.

Which is still an issue, she finds herself realizing yet again, dread over their lack of conversation once again gnawing at the pit of her stomach as they discreetly climb into the car. She'd feel better if she just knew his feelings. Or thoughts. Or intentions. Or whatever. At least she'd know what she's dealing with then.

She doesn't want to distract him as he fusses with the wires under the dashboard, but she knows that these moments they have to themselves are few and far between, and will be even more so for the next 24 hours or so, given that there's only so far away Rufus can be when sharing a single sedan.

Now's the time, Lucy knows. She's just sitting there watching, and it's the perfect time to broach the topic of _them_.

But she's terrible at this. What should she actually _say_? Because last night's attempt had led to her babbling about condoms; when she'd tried again after they'd woken up in the morning, she'd managed to get a little farther towards her goal by asking if he was ok with things.

But of course, he'd taken it as her asking about the _sex_. (Which, fine, maybe she had been a little bit, and it hadn't been the worst thing in the world to hear that he thought it was good… He'd meant that, right?)

She could have corrected him. Emphasized that she meant _more_ than the sex. Was his _heart_ ok? With moving on? And, by the way, how far on were they moving, exactly?

But no. She'd chickened out, in possibly the lamest way possible.

An HR issue, Lucy chastises herself in her head, _sure_.

The two of them having sex is very much not an HR issue, and she knows it, and he knows it. They are no more of an issue than Rufus and Jiya are, and Rufus and Jiya are very much co-workers that had gone from zero to couple while on the job. With absolutely _no_ HR issues along the way, considering that neither Mason nor Christopher seem to have a problem with them being together. Mason had even _encouraged_ it, if Lucy's recalling some conversations with Rufus correctly.

They have to just _talk_.

So Lucy glances around, scanning the street to make sure Rufus isn't about to interrupt this conversation, not to mention for anyone who might suspect that they're not exactly owners of the car they're in.

She's just about to muster up the questions she needs to ask when Wyatt pipes up instead.

* * *

It's a nerve-wracking drive off the lot. With that accomplished, then it's another nerve-wracking drive back to the Lifeboat; it's not as if they'd been able to hide or camouflage it very well, so Lucy's fervently hoping that no one has found it, and that no one will find it while they're in the midst of retrieving the duffel bag of supplies they need before heading up north. If nothing else, Lucy concedes to herself, those nerves at least help to keep the Wyatt-related nerves at bay for a while.

Once they have the bag, as Wyatt maneuvers them out of LA, she angles herself to face Rufus, and, using the notepad they'd stashed in the duffel, helps him work out some rough calculations of when and where they'll need to stop for gas given the car they'd grabbed, plus how much they can actually afford given what was in the wallet Wyatt had been able to snag in the costume area plus what Rufus had 'borrowed' from George.

When Wyatt points out that the car doesn't even have half a tank full to begin with, coupled with the fact that none of them have eaten in… how many hours? None of them even know at this point. In any case, it's after 11am anyway, so they all agree to stop at a filling station just on the north side of LA to grab lunch.

Wyatt handles the gas, Rufus manages to locate a map to buy, and Lucy's left with coming up with food.

Before they've even paid at the counter, the map confirms what Lucy had already been 98% sure of – the I-5 doesn't exist yet, which means their drive is going to have to be on either 99 or 101 – not exactly a straight shot. In the end, they agree to opt for the 99 – it goes through larger cities where traffic may slow them up, but they're also more likely to have filling stations open into the night, which they're going to need given the ten or so hours of driving they're facing. And that's just to _get_ there, never mind to get back.

Once they climb back into the car, Rufus is less than thrilled with the selection of sandwiches that Lucy had been able to find pre-packaged in the gas station. No, olive and cream cheese isn't exactly what she would have wanted either, but he's particularly emphatic about his protests. He's only somewhat placated by the fact that she'd also managed to find oatmeal cookies, homemade by the proprietor's wife, and even glass bottles of Coca-Cola. (Though she's left to disappoint him once again when she informed him that it isn't as authentic as he thinks - the actual 'coca' had already been removed from the formula over a decade earlier.)

Wyatt remains rather quiet through Rufus' complaining, instead hurriedly eating his own food with only a look of mild disdain at the odd vintage sandwich. Not that Lucy is expecting him to be chatty about anything in particular, but she can't help but worry that their night may somehow be contributing to his near-silence.

She has a few moments there when, after Rufus stretches out on the backseat and falls asleep, Lucy thinks that maybe she could risk a conversation with Wyatt while Rufus is out cold, but just as she's working up the nerve to say something, they finally reach a stretch of road with a faster speed limit. No, 45 miles an hour is not the same as modern interstate speeds, but in a convertible with the top down, there's going to be no conversation amidst the noise of the wind, Lucy realizes glumly.

Which means nearly ten hours with just her own mind and her worries and rehashing – for better or for worse – everything that had happened between her and Wyatt since the day before.

She's just contemplating the best way to situate herself to try and take a page from Rufus' book and nap, considering that will be the only way to escape her own mind for so long when she's made aware of a clear _benefit_ of the faster, smoother highway driving.

Without the constant stops and starts and gearshifting of the pre-automatic transmission car in city traffic, Wyatt's right hand is that much less occupied out on the highway.

So, just north of San Fernando, he reaches across the front seat and slips his hand into hers, weaving their fingers together and offering a soft squeeze.

Lucy's heart does a little flip-flop, and she shoots him a bashful smile before he turns his attention back to the road. That's not just friends with benefits, right?

She can't quite fully convince herself of that just yet, but she certainly isn't going to complain about the feel of his hand in hers.

He has to let go when they hit traffic here and there, but each time they return to open road, he reaches for her again.

She's about as happy as she can get, all things considered.

She's less happy when Rufus complains once again about the quick gas station dinner they grab just north of Fresno; he grumbles about wishing there was a McDonald's, and in her own frustration at the less-than-ideal food, she accidentally reveals that the first McDonald's _is_ actually open already, down in San Bernardino. Of course, that leaves Rufus lobbying to detour there on the way back to the Lifeboat, an option that Lucy is in no way ready to entertain when they have yet to accomplish their actual goal up in Oakland. It's not as if _she_ wouldn't love to see more of 1941 – Stanford, Palo Alto, San Francisco, the Pacific Coast Highway on the drive back to LA… But they can't waste that much time.

Wyatt gives her hand a reassuring, calming squeeze, and she's ever so grateful.

Even more grateful when Rufus falls back asleep as darkness sets in.

* * *

Once they've done everything they can to ensure that the stash left for Flynn actually remains hidden until 2018, there's nothing left but the long drive back to LA and the Lifeboat. They'd debated on the drive up whether they should try to spend the night somewhere, given that it's nearly midnight by the time they finish, but in the end, all three of them figure that powering through a nighttime drive and getting back to the present relatively quickly would be best. Who knows where or when Emma could be while they're in the past, hours away from the Lifeboat and any hint of the Mothership's doings.

So once they're back out at the car, Lucy eases herself back into her seat, feeling silly for looking forward to simply being able to hold Wyatt's hand again.

But that notion is quashed almost as soon as she sits down; instead of Wyatt sliding into the driver's seat, Rufus beats him to it.

Before either she or Wyatt can say anything, Rufus is already pointing out, "I slept the whole drive up, man. I'm in way better shape to be driving all night than you are." Lucy's also pretty sure that he mutters something under his breath after that along the lines of 'not like you two slept last night either…'

Lucy tries not to feel equally bashful and disappointed; they _had_ slept some, but he's not entirely wrong about them having been focused on things other than sleep. She steals a quick glance at Wyatt, but she can't see his face from her angle, and he's already climbing into the backseat with a shrug anyway.

So she still doesn't know where Wyatt stands on… them, and now she won't even get to sit next to him for the drive. Dejected, she slumps down in her seat a bit as Rufus sparks the car's ignition and heads for the main road.

The next thing Lucy is conscious of is jerking her head up to find that Rufus has pulled off to the side of the highway, with not even the barest hint of dawn tingeing the eastern horizon, though faint moonlight lingers. Worried, she darts her gaze between Wyatt in the back and Rufus next to her. Wyatt looks just as groggy and confused as she feels, but Rufus is eyeing her with a knowing grin.

She starts a stammered inquiry of "Wha-?", but Rufus cuts her off.

"Get in the back," he instructs with a roll of his eyes.

Which doesn't clear anything up for Lucy. Had she been snoring or something? Had Wyatt complained that she's the only one who hasn't sat in the back yet? She doesn't think that could be it, considering he looks as bewildered as she is. "I, uh," she protests, "It's ok, I can just-"

Rufus chortles. "It's not gonna be ok if your neck snaps in half 'cause you're falling asleep and this stupid car has no headrests and nothing to lean on."

Which, fair. These older car models weren't exactly ergonomic, but what did that have to do with anything, Lucy puzzled. "Well, I-"

"You're happening," Rufus cut her off with a knowing grin. "Which means you are perfectly within your rights to use him as a pillow," he added, nodding toward Wyatt in the back.

Oh.

"Go be all cute and snuggly," comes Rufus' next teasing instruction, complete with Cheshire Cat-like grin.

Lucy feels her cheeks flame. It would be one thing if Wyatt wanted that – _does_ he? – but she doesn't want him to bow to anyone else's pressure when it comes to anything on the relationshippy front. Considering they've yet to actually _talk_ about whatever their relationship, or lack thereof, is now.

She sneaks a furtive glance at him in the backseat. He's looking sheepish too, the tips of his ears looking like they might be flushing a darker pink in the dim moonlight as he rolls his eyes at Rufus' comment.

"Cute and snuggly like you and Jiya," he snarks at Rufus, in possibly the lamest comeback ever.

And Rufus is clearly well aware of the lame factor – not to mention well aware of what Wyatt may have inadvertently just implied, considering that Rufus and Jiya are indeed a well-established couple – grinning even wider. "Damn straight," he laughs. "She's my girlfriend and we are adorable. And let's all be real here," he adds, giving both of them serious side-eye, "I saw with my own eyes that you two already 'snuggled'," he points out, including air quotes. "So just go sit in back and don't break your neck," he once again instructs Lucy.

Lucy's left not quite knowing what to do. She dodges Rufus' knowing glare, not wanting to think about the embarrassing moment when he'd walked in on them earlier that morning. But that leaves her to turn to Wyatt questioningly, still unsure if he's ok with now being pegged as her… whatever that somehow obligates him to be her human pillow. What _had_ he meant, if anything, by that comeback comparison to their friends?

A little wave of relief washes over her when she finds him no longer paying attention to Rufus and his taunts, but rather eyeing her warmly with a beckoning nod.

She's still a little bashful as she climbs out of the front door to slide into the backseat next to Wyatt, and Rufus does her no favors when he chimes in one more time, chiding, "Just… remember I have a rearview mirror. Clothes on this time, please."

But what starts out as awkward unease as she pulls the back door closed behind her fades when Wyatt reaches for her as she slips into the seat next to him. One arm goes around her shoulders and the other tucks her even closer to him, that hand nudging up the hem of her dress to come to brush over the bare skin of her knee.

For as much as she wished they'd been able to discuss what happened – what's _happening_ – between them before Rufus could strong-arm them into this… couple-y mode, Lucy can't help but relax in Wyatt's embrace as she slides her own arms around him and rests her cheek on his chest. There's a tug in her chest and she lets out a soft sigh; for as thrilled as she is that they kissed and slept together, moments like this – the quiet moments when they can just _be_ , and now _be_ , _together_ , as _some_ thing – are possibly even better.

That sentiment only deepens when, as her eyes flutter shut, she feels Wyatt press a kiss to the top of her head.

She loves him. And she just hopes that he really does want them to keep being… whatever they are now.

She must sleep through the necessary gas stops they make on the way; the next time Lucy wakes, it's brighter out, though a bit overcast. She blinks, bleary-eyed, at the sights along the side of the road, but she can't place it.

"'nother couple hours or so," comes a gravelly explanation from just above her head.

Her stomach does a little flip-flop at Wyatt's words, and another when, as she tilts her head up toward him, he presses a soft kiss to her lips. But, between Rufus' earlier warning about the rearview mirror and the exhaustion she still feels from the past couple of days, sleep beckons stronger than the promise of taking the kiss any further.

In an effort to ward off muscle cramps, Lucy extracts herself from where she's been wrapped around Wyatt's torso in the same position for hours. But even when she's straightened herself out in the seat, she can't help but hug his arm to her and lean her head on his shoulder.

Wyatt has leaned her head down on hers by the time she wakes up again, this time to the sound of Rufus urging them out of the car. Even though it's an awkward position, and her neck is sore, Lucy laments the loss of contact with Wyatt. But she recognizes that they're back where they'd left the Lifeboat, near the observatory, and sticking around to cuddle can't really be on the agenda when they have to get back and see how this whole Flynn-plot has worked out in the present-day.

So Lucy gives Wyatt a weak smile as they climb out of the car. A quick glance over her shoulder reveals that Rufus is already hauling himself up into the Lifeboat.

Trying to seize the brief moment of privacy, Lucy speaks up hesitantly, "Wyatt, I-"

"Today, people!" Rufus' voice booms from within the Lifeboat. "Now that we're here instead of getting my McDonald's, if you think I'm ok with Flynn stealing my bunk while we sit on our asses, you are sorely mistaken, my friends!"

Wyatt shoots her an apologetic look, then takes her hand and leads her to the Lifeboat.

As Lucy climbs in, she allows herself a fleeting second to pause, close her eyes, and take a deep breath. For all the times and places they've been and seen, this jump turned out – unexpectedly – in the _best_ way. She just hopes that even a little bit of what she and Wyatt had here follows them back to their own time.

The prospect of that is looking good inside the Lifeboat, at least; once they're seated, Wyatt gives Lucy a suggestive smirk and reaches over to buckle her seatbelt. In fastening it, he's definitely a little less careful about where his hands go than he has been in the past. Not that Lucy's complaining…

And just like that, they're back in the bunker.

Lucy is still, of course, itching to get Wyatt alone to talk about the other night, about _them_ , whatever they are – and maybe even do more than talk, if they actually _are_ on the same page and that's where the discussion lands them. Which seems _crazy_ to think about, considering how long such a thing had seemed impossible.

But by coincidence, it's morning in the present as well, and as they descend from the Lifeboat into the bunker, they're met with Connor, just sitting down to his breakfast. And his coffee must have just kicked in, because he's exceptionally chatty and inquisitive about the mission.

However, before the three of them can launch into any stories about Hedy or Barney, Rufus pipes up. "I'm gonna go shower before Jiya wakes up," he informs everyone. Then, with a wary side-eye at Lucy and Wyatt, he adds, "I'll be quick. Then the shower will be free. For you two. To do… whatever."

And, for the second time in as many mornings, Rufus has managed to make Lucy inwardly want to disappear into the floor. She feels her cheeks burning, even as she painstakingly keeps herself from looking at Wyatt, as if it would somehow confirm to Connor that Rufus' lascivious insinuation is true and that something had happened.

Thankfully, it all seems to go over Connor's head; he's more interested in hearing about the classic movie sets and the glitterati at Hearst's party. Well, in actuality, he's _most_ interested in Hedy's and George's inventions, but that's going to have to wait until Rufus gets back.

Which he does, and quickly, true to his word, returning in just a few minutes and announcing, "Shower's free…"

Wyatt nudges her on the arm, nodding down the hall. "You go," he insists. "I can wait."

Lucy tries not to feel disappointed that he doesn't seem to be eager to follow through on what Rufus had been insinuating about sharing a shower. It's fine. It makes sense – Rufus knows that something happened, but still, the only smidge of a discussion they'd had had been left at not saying anything to anyone at work yet. Jumping in the shower together to fool around _might_ not be the best way to accomplish keeping things a secret.

Not to mention the fact that she does still need to hear from Wyatt himself what exactly this is that they're keeping a secret. And that should probably happen before sneaking sex in the bathroom.

So she forces a smile. "Sure. I just… have to find clothes," she adds with a frown. Her ad hoc wardrobe had dwindled to rather sparse pickings when they'd had to jump to Hollywood; she'd blurted out a hurried request for laundry to Jiya as they'd left, promising to return the favor. But she has no idea yet if Jiya had followed through. So she rethinks her reply, and instead tells Wyatt, "No, uh, actually, that might take a minute. You go first. You're quick."

Lucy does her absolute best to keep her face neutral when referencing Wyatt's showering habits; it's not as if she doesn't know them anyway from just being in the bunker together. But she feels like Rufus and Connor can read her mind, like they just know that she's recalling sharing a bathroom, post-sex, back in 1941.

But, of course they can't – or at least Connor can't. Rufus, she's not so sure.

Either way, Wyatt lets out a chuckle and agrees.

For a split second, Lucy thinks they might even have a moment alone as they both head for their respective rooms, and even wonders if maybe Wyatt is thinking about a shared shower too, but before they get very far, Connor hurries up behind them muttering something about using the bathroom before anyone takes a shower.

Which means they have an unwitting chaperone on the way down the hall, so when they reach her room, there's nothing Lucy can do but give Wyatt a half-hearted helpless shrug before ducking inside.

Jiya's still asleep, Lucy realizes quickly. She also realizes, pleasantly surprised, that her roommate had indeed washed some laundry for her; both pairs of her jeans and her few shirts are hanging on a line that Jiya had strung across the small room. The bunker's ancient dryer must have been having an off day.

Lucy grimaces when she reaches for a pair though; they're still damp. Damp to the point of being unwearable. She sighs. Ratty old sweatpants and a dingy t-shirt – the only things she knows she has that are both still clean _and_ dry – were _not_ what she had in mind to start off… whatever this relationship-like thing with Wyatt is.

She briefly entertains the idea of grabbing something of Jiya's to borrow, but a quick glance around reveals most of those to be missing in action as well. Which means… maybe they're in the utility closet where the washer and dryer are?

So Lucy grabs what she needs from her own stash of clean underwear and bras, and all her shower necessities, then adds the boring sweatpants and plain t-shirt to her pile, just in case she doesn't find anything better among Jiya's things, which she's hoping are… in the dryer? Dry? Maybe?

Turns out, they're not. It seems Lucy's wet clothes got strung up in their room because Jiya's had taken up all the free space in the laundry closet itself. Where they are draped from every hook, nook, and any other surface they can possibly hang from. And no closer to dry than Lucy's clothes are.

With a dejected sigh, Lucy grimaces down at the bundle of bland and not-at-all attractive options she's left clutching as her only option. But in looking down, her gaze lands on a couple lonely Target bags – part of the initial stash that Agent Christopher had left for them, it would seem. And, upon closer inspection, she can see the 'Wyatt' scrawled messily in marker across the red and white plastic.

She'd shied away from wearing his shirt the day before, when she'd been worried about him possibly regretting things. But those regrets hadn't materialized… Hesitance about others knowing? Yes, which still has her anxious and just wanting to talk things over a little more, but full-blown regrets? No. Or not yet, anyway. Plus, Lucy rationalizes to herself as she tugs a soft blue flannel shirt from one of the bags, these aren't really his yet anyway. The tags are still on the shirt; he probably doesn't even know it exists.

It's tucked into the bundle of clothes in her arms before she can give it a second thought, and Lucy hugs the whole bundle to her chest. Not that it does anything to quell the butterflies in her stomach and the smile she's fighting.

They live in a bunker, for heaven's sake, so they can hide from, and fight off, an evil, centuries-old underground organization hell-bent on re-writing history as they know it, with her mother at the helm.

But for the first time in a long time, Lucy is _happy_. And hopeful. (And anxious and a little apprehensive, yes, but still… hopeful.)

Which has her scurrying toward the bathroom, and her eventual conversation with Wyatt, a little quicker than she might have otherwise. She sees Jiya still asleep as she passes their bedroom, and the bathroom door is still closed – but no water running – once arrives at that end of the hall.

There's a moment there when Lucy actually contemplates knocking and maybe slipping in the door; if nothing else, they could have some privacy to talk. But before she can work up the confidence to actually make a move, the door opens and Wyatt appears.

The butterflies are back with a vengeance when Lucy realizes the bright smile that appears on Wyatt's face when he exits is because of her. So suddenly, she's smiling too, and she wants nothing more than to just be able to casually lean into him for a kiss.

But they're not quite there yet. They need to talk.

…but then it seems like maybe he wants the same thing, right there in the hallway, and Lucy is almost convinced that she could actually lean in and-

Footsteps echo suddenly, and any leaning on either of their parts is quickly _un_ leaned.

Mason rounds the corner into the long hallway, either mumbling emphatically to himself, or on a Bluetooth call. In any case, it becomes obvious rather quickly that the hallway with the bathroom is Mason's pacing spot of the moment. Which means, Lucy realizes glumly, that there will be no kissing in the hallway nor any ducking back into the bathroom together. Not when the last thing they'd agreed upon out loud was to keep things a secret.

Wyatt apparently realizes the same thing, considering that he slides past her out of the doorway into the hall.

But he surprises her, murmuring as he passes her, "Now I think he's just doing it on purpose."

With the allusion back to earlier, and to the first time they'd danced around their 'possibilities', Lucy's not quite composed enough to muster a coherent reply, but she can't help the bashful grin that creeps onto her face. Especially when Wyatt adds, as he's backing away down the hall, "I'll see you when you get out?"

She nods, with the hope that he wants to define what they are just as much as she does. And then, with Connor still pacing and muttering nearby, Lucy ducks into the bathroom.

She does need a minute though, before she can really do anything. She still can't quite wrap her mind around the fact that the night in Hollywood actually _happened_. Throw in the little moments since, like just then in the hallway? Well, forgive her if she's not quite used to the new reality.

Lucy shoves the chair into place behind the door, then takes a steadying breath as she lowers herself to sit on said chair. She's hesitant to let her mind get carried away, but it does seem like something is… _different_ already, and that Wyatt might be open to more than just something along the lines of a no-strings-attached, friends-with-benefits kind thing. Not that there's not still a huge gaping chasm between sure-let's-try-maybe-being-a-real-couple and oh-hey-I'm-desperately-in-love-with-you-and-have-been-already-for-a-long-time… Lucy takes another deep breath. They just need to talk. Talking will give her some clarity on what they are, and what she's willing to admit to him about how deep in she is already.

It's that thought that spurs her into motion again. The quicker she's done in there, the quicker she's going to be able to track Wyatt down and maybe find a quiet moment to just… process what happened between them. Together.

So she hauls herself up off the chair and sheds the floral dress borrowed from 1941. Lucy's careful with it as she drapes it across the chair once it's off; it hadn't quite been what she'd had in mind when she'd chosen it, but it certainly has its fair share of good memories now.

Once she's in the water, washing herself off, she finds herself once again fighting the urge to linger on the memory of Wyatt's hands dancing over those same swaths of skin.

But it would be that much better to maybe feel his hands again, rather than just reminiscing, she reminds herself, so she hurries through the rest of her shower, anxious about finding Wyatt and their looming conversation.

Lucy dries off quickly, and while it feels a little silly for the bunker, she spends a few extra moments on her hair with the dryer that Jiya has stationed in the bathroom, and another moment on top of that sweeping just a touch of mascara on in the hope that she doesn't look quite as exhausted as she normally does. Then come the sweatpants, the t-shirt, and the flannel no longer destined for Wyatt's wardrobe.

She eyes herself in the mirror. It's hardly how she'd normally look for any sort of date with a guy. But, of course, there's no date in the first place, and she wouldn't normally have fallen in love _first_ , then fallen into _bed_ , and only _then_ bothered to take the time to hash out what in the hell they're doing.

And there's nothing left at this point to do but just get out of there, find Wyatt, and have that conversation.

So Lucy gathers her things, takes a deep breath, and heads out into the hallway.

Part of her almost expected, or maybe just hoped, to find Wyatt waiting there for her. But he's not there – it's Jiya who is, leaning against the wall half-asleep and grumbling about needing to pee.

Lucy offers a quick apology, then hurries toward the bedrooms. If Jiya _isn't_ in their room, maybe Wyatt _is_?

But he's not. So she dumps her things onto her cot and hurries off. A peek into the guys' room reveals only Rufus and Connor having some sort of argument about some quantum something or other.

There's only so many other places that Wyatt could be, and considering she's just accounted for the other three bunker residents, unless Agent Christopher is back, wherever he is, he's _alone_.

She finds him in the main living area, playing around with a handful of checkers, of all things.

Turns out, for as much as you might want to have a conversation, starting it isn't the easiest thing. Lucy feels ridiculous just standing there for a moment, but really, how do you go about asking someone if they think the two of you should be in a relationship? Or maybe already are in a relationship? There's no way to do that without sounding so stupi-

"Hey," Wyatt says, breaking through her worried thoughts with a grin.

His warm smile from over where he's aimlessly stacking the checkers somehow simultaneously eases Lucy's anxiety and heightens it. They're talking, but she still doesn't quite know what to say yet. So, rather than dive right in with the serious stuff, she takes the easy road. Creeping closer and easing herself into the chair across from him, she raises her eyebrows with a teasing smile at the game spread out on the table. "Checkers?"

"Oh," a voice calls out from behind them, causing them both to startle. Lucy whirls around in time to see Jiya, now out of the bathroom, in the kitchen scrounging for something for breakfast. And also effectively putting an end to the short-lived privacy she and Wyatt had had for about twenty seconds. "Mason and I got super bored, and super drunk, last night," Jiya continues. "Checkers seemed like a good idea at the time," she adds with a shrug. "It ended up kind of fun, actually. You guys should play."

Lucy turns back to Wyatt, skeptical of the suggestion, but he's laughing and shrugging. "Checkers?" he asks, already setting up the pieces.

She bites her lip; on one hand, checkers does actually seem somehow perfectly innocent and carefree and the kind of silly fun that they don't often get. On the other hand, now that Jiya is out in the kitchen for breakfast, that means their room is empty. And private. Of course, Lucy's not entirely sure how she can suggest taking things to the bedroom without sounding far too forward about things. So she lets out an incredulous little laugh and nods at the game, agreeing, "Sure."

It's so ridiculous. They're playing checkers, and her stomach flutters at every little hand brush between them when they happen to reach for the same extra pieces at the same time, and it's just… silly. But it's also, somehow… _nice_.

They're both in the middle of laughing over Wyatt's gentle tease about the 'checkers shark' that Lucy must have been when she was younger when they hear yet another voice behind them.

"How'd it go?"

* * *

He called the other night amazing, and his hands are on her waist to pull her closer, and the words 'living together' came out of his mouth, and… it's _amazing_ – the other night _and_ hearing all that from him – but it's a _lot_ , all at once, and her heart is racing and her brain ends up short-circuiting a little somewhere in there, because really, that's the only explanation Lucy has for the stupid, nonsensical, almost jinx-like babble that tumbles out of her own mouth when she can't come up with _any_ thing else to say aside from, "Nowhere to go but down."

**~FIN~**

**Author's Note:**

> …and I'm leaving it there. This was written to fit right into the canon of the episode/season. So, yes, he still got the evil text of doom, because hey, it fits, and that's what happened :(
> 
> Orrrrrr… perhaps you might decide that canon is crap so it's AU and there's no Jessica and the little text notification noise never happened, and instead of jinxing anything, the next thing from Wyatt is a sinful smirk and something wickedly playful along the lines of "Pretty sure going down is a good thing. Seemed like you agreed the other night…" whispered in her ear, followed by Lucy being adorkably mortified (but very much turned on)… Up to you… ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
